


glory and gore

by brightbolt, NSFWAdora



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mentions of IPV, Crossdressing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Revolutionary War, Slow Burn, Spies, adora dresses like a man and goes by adam in the rebellion, brief mentions of sexual assault, catra runs a tavern and is in a loveless arranged marriage with a loyalist, if you like sexy period pieces this one's for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbolt/pseuds/brightbolt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSFWAdora/pseuds/NSFWAdora
Summary: "For the last four years, Catra’s routine had been the same.Every day, she woke up just after dawn; left the comfort of her own bed to go prepare food for her, her husband, and whatever guests they might have; and checked the supply of ale in the cellar.Then, she would make sure all the mugs and glasses were clean. Once people started rolling in, usually just after noon, the bar would be wiped down and the musicians she employed would be setting up. She would make idle conversation with the others and finish cleaning up until the first groups of men looking for a drink showed up with pockets that clinked and jingled with coins, and then the rest of the night would be spent cleaning mugs and pouring ale.Catra had resigned herself to this life with a sort of detached acceptance.Then, a Rebellion captain walked into her establishment, and she knew instantly that something was about to change."or, Captain Adam Fairchild, who harbors a secret that could get him killed, goes in search of a spy to help the Rebellion's cause. He finds it — and much, much more — in a tavern-keeper's wife.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 298
Kudos: 1339





	1. rule, britannia

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! i love historical fiction & i love she-ra, and obviously the natural progression of those two things is a soon-to-be steamy period piece. 
> 
> BUT! 
> 
> before we get into it, i HAVE to recognize alex for 1) coming up with the idea for this au, 2) for talking with me about it for literal days on end, and 3) for being such a fuckin good person to create stuff with. this fic is truly our baby. follow him on tumblr @adorasheart for more quality content!
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are very appreciated! if you have any questions or just want to chat, i'm also on tumblr @brightbolts. i'll see you on the other side, soldiers!
> 
> (title comes from glory and gore by lorde)
> 
> tw: implied sexual assault

_SEPTEMBER 1774. BOSTON._

There was a tavern along the harbor that Captain Adam Fairchild had never been to. 

This wasn’t in itself unusual — for one, he lived and worked outside the city, so making the trek into it wasn’t usually a part of his day to day routine. In his time in Boston, however, he and other officers of the Rebellion had been to many, _many_ taverns. 

Somehow, this one had always eluded him. 

A sign swung over the door that read _The Cat’s Cradle_. Underneath it, a few detailed claw marks were painted, giving the appearance of deep scratches in the wood. 

_Very impressive for such a small place,_ Adam thought, swinging the door open. He adjusted the lapels of the red British officer’s coat he wore, trying to make it appear more natural around his frame. Truthfully, it had been a long, long time since he’d worn it without feeling sick to his stomach.

After Bow and Glimmer had found him in the forest after a battle years before, he hadn’t had much reason to. Deserting — which soon became defecting — seemed to have that effect.

Today was different. Today was _important_. Today, ideally, they would begin a long-term operation to help free the colonies with help from the inside. 

In other words, Adam was here to spy. 

_The_ _Cat’s Cradle_ was a notorious Loyalist tavern, and as such it was operated by a notorious Loyalist by the name of Charles Monroe. Due to his position along the harbor and his accomplishments in an earlier war, Monroe _also_ doubled as a source of information. Adam knew from his own time in the British army how instrumental he was in spreading communications from the higher-ranking British officers to local battalions.

(Adam had actually met him once or twice while he still served the crown, but hadn’t heard much about him since — or, for that matter, about his wife. In fact, the only thing he’d been told about her in his briefing an hour before was that the inn was technically hers by right. It was something of a family business, apparently.)

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Adam pushed the door open confidently, and was greeted with the sound of music and the view of no fewer than forty British soldiers drinking and laughing at the round wooden tables. 

He swallowed thickly, trying to tamp down the nervous feeling that arose at the sight. In his defense, he _had_ spent the last two years as a captain working on the opposite side of the war, so he felt like the sense of unease it inspired was warranted.

There was a free table near the middle that Adam sat down at, shifting a little in the stiff, long-unused coat. By this point, he much preferred the deep, rebel blue of his new captain’s jacket. It suited him better. It was also far more _comfortable_ than the one he was currently wearing, but that was neither here nor there. 

Adam was so focused on the feeling of it against his body that he missed the figure moving towards him. 

Then, a voice from in front of him said, “Evening, soldier. I haven’t seen you around before.” He looked up to see a woman raising an almost playful eyebrow at him.

She looked like she was shorter than him by about half a foot, if not more, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way she carried herself. 

Long brown hair was held back by a faded red headband to keep it out of her eyes. Adam realized with a slight shock that they were two different colors. One was bright blue, reminding him of the ocean opposite the tavern; the other was a pale golden that made him think of firelight. There was a splash of freckles that dusted across the tawny skin of her face, settling on her nose and cheeks. 

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes out of respect when he saw the wedding ring on her left hand. “Lieutenant Fairchild, ma’am. I’m… new.”

“That’s an uncommon name,” She said, the corner of her lips quirking up in a smile. Her accent was local, Adam noticed. He’d heard mostly British accents since walking into the tavern, so this was a nice change of pace. She looked him up and down, eyes hesitating for a moment on the three parallel scars on the side of his jaw. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs..?” He trailed off, asking a clear question, though he couldn’t place why. 

In both his… well, his _situation_ and his line of work, Adam knew any advance towards her would probably be a bad idea. Plus, if his hunch was right, and she was married to the man he was intending to spy on, it could only end badly.

But there was… _something_ about her that drew him in. There was a twinkle in her eye he didn’t see much of these days, and her smirk had a knowing look to it that made him feel as though they shared a joke no one else would understand. 

(It helped that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.)

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a short man appeared behind her that Adam recognized as Charles Monroe. He put a hand on her waist protectively. 

He was pale, stiff, and scrawny, and reminded Adam vaguely of a rat. He wondered idly if, for all his pull with the army, he’d ever seen a battle, because it didn’t appear as though there was much he’d be good for in one. 

“Monroe,” Charles supplied, his voice lilting and a little nasally. His English accent was unmarred even after a decade of living in the colonies. “This is my wife.”

“Of course, sir,” Adam said carefully, not wanting to offend him. His eyes flicked over to Mrs. Monroe, whose jaw tightened at the words even as she tried to appear happy. She gave Adam a small smile before excusing herself to deal with a raucous, rowdy group in the other room. “I meant no disrespect. I’m glad I got to talk to you, actually.” Adam said, offering a hand. “Lieutenant Fairchild, sir. I’ve heard so much—”

“Do I know you, Lieutenant?” Charles asked, eyes narrowing. “You look familiar.”

“Um,” Adam said, blinking and trying not to panic, “No. We-We’ve never met. I actually just came up from Philadelphia—”

“Are you sure? Because I really do feel as though I know you from somewhere.” 

_Oh, shit._

Adam knew that this was about to go wrong. He _knew_ they shouldn’t have risked sending Adam to pretend to meet someone he already sort of knew, but there weren’t any other candidates that had his knowledge of the British system. It was always going to be a risk.

“Uh, no,” He said, trying to sound more sure than he was. “Nope. Not that I can—”

Charles frowned before his face lit up in recognition. “I _do_ know you. Adam, isn’t it?” His eyes narrowed immediately after, which meant he remembered more than just Adam’s name. “I thought they told me you defecte—”

“Darling,” Mrs. Monroe said, interrupting the tension building between them as she appeared again almost out of nowhere. “There’s a group in the other room, a rebel group. They’re causing a mess. I asked them to stop, but they won’t listen to me.” She stepped into his space, cocking her head just a bit. “Can you deal with them?” She blinked innocently, as if completely unaware of what she had stepped into. 

Privately, Adam didn’t believe it for a second.

Charles’ eyes flicked back between his wife and the lieutenant before he nodded. The tension seemed to seep out of him, though he was clearly torn on what to do. Sensing his indecision, his wife put a hand gently on his arm, as if trying to convince him physically. It seemed to jolt him into action. “Um. Yes, of—of course, my love. I’ll return shortly.”

Adam’s heart was racing, and he knew his cover was either blown or about to be. He watched Charles leave the room. When Mrs. Monroe turned to face him, he prepared himself for another once-over and a quick conversation at most. 

This, unfortunately, meant he was _not_ prepared for what happened next. 

Mrs. Monroe leaned in, whispering hastily. “You need to leave. _Now_.”

“What?” He said, a little surprised at the sudden tone switch. “Why—”

“If he finds out you’re with… _them_ , he’ll try and kill you. I can’t let that happen.” At his shocked, open-mouthed expression, she continued, “In the tavern. I-I can’t let that happen in the tavern. The blood will soak into the wood, and we’ll have to replace the floors again.” It was a weak explanation for what she was doing, and they both knew it.

Adam swallowed before he stood up, shrugging his coat back on with a wide-eyed stare. “How did you—-”

“Your uniform is out of date, _Lieutenant_ , and I have ears.” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“W-Why are you helping me?” He asked, keeping his voice low. 

She hesitated for a second. “I don’t know. But I don’t want our—” She froze, and her eyes darted around to make sure no one had heard the slip. “I don’t want _your_ cause to be the reason my inn becomes a slaughterhouse, and…” 

Her eyes lingered again on Adam again. This time, they fell to his chest, where the blood-red jacket covered a simple shirt, a waistcoat, and something that shouldn’t have been visible through either of them. “...I can tell there’s something different about you.”

 _No,_ Adam thought as a hand flew to his chest involuntarily. His eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror. _No, there’s no way she could know that._

He cleared his throat, trying to control the waver in it. “H-How did you—”

“Go,” She said insistently, ignoring the question. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Wait.” He cast a glance at the edge of the room, listening for footsteps and hearing none. “What’s your name?”

She frowned, eyes flicking over. “Monroe. You knew that already.”

“No, _your_ name. Not his.” Adam’s tone was firm, but low. He could see confusion mingling with hesitation in her eyes.

“Catra,” She said after a beat. 

_Catra_. It suited her, Adam thought. It fit her personality in a way that Monroe simply... didn’t. 

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable under the strength and sincerity of his gaze, Catra cleared her throat. “Now get out of here before he realizes those drunken rebels are just normal drunks.”

Adam didn’t wait a second longer. He gave her a nod, tipped his hat in farewell, and was out the door in a second. He ran outside, heart still racing and blood running cold. 

Fear welled up in his throat, and he ducked into an alley to catch his breath for a second before pressing a hand to his chest. 

The bindings there couldn’t be seen through his shirt, he knew, which meant she had just… _known_. That was even more terrifying. 

You see, Adam had something of a secret, and it was a big one. Because Adam Fairchild was not, in fact, AdamFairchild. 

He — well, _she_ , in the privacy of her own tent — was _Adora_ Fairchild. 

For lack of a better phrase, it was a long story. 

Adora had grown up an orphan in Boston, and had always been taller and stronger than other kids, which had proven to be both a genetic advantage and an advantage of growing up on the streets. She’d also had less-than-perfect nutrition over the course of her life, and her breasts were on the small side. 

Thatmeant many things, but the most valuable was that they were easily concealed. 

As soon as she turned 16, she joined the army with a fake name, seeking a stable source of income and a warm meal. At that time, there was only onearmy, and it was British. 

She hadn’t actually had a last name before joining, having grown up without any family to speak of. But Razz, an old woman that lived outside of town, always called her a ‘fair child’ for her age. She’d also misheard Adora when she first introduced herself and had been calling her Adam for years now.

It was as good a name as any, Adora thought, and she didn’t mind everything that came with it as long as it meant she was alive at the end of the day. So she bound her chest, she lowered her voice, and she gave the appearance of something at the seam of her trousers, and she called it enough. 

The only other people who knew were Glimmer, the daughter and apprentice of their regiment’s chief surgeon, Micah; and Bow, a former infantry sniper turned tactician. They had been cataloguing the numbers of the dead and wounded two years prior when they’d stumbled across Adora lying facedown in the dirt.

They’d assumed she was dead, but upon seeing that she was just passed out, they took her prisoner on behalf of the then-fledgling movement for independence. 

It didn’t go well. 

They got lost in the woods, and Adora had helped them escape (as well as fighting off wolves, helping them navigate by the stars during the night, and eventually helping stitch her own wound) on the condition that she’d be released. 

Well, that hadn’t happened either. 

They’d come out in a small farming village on the outskirts of the forest that was ransacked by the British while they were there. After witnessing firsthand the devastation they’d caused, Adora had made an instant and immediate choice to desert. She had been a proud member of the Rebellion ever since.

Although Bow and Glimmer were now her most trusted and beloved friends, she hadn’t told them her secret. Well, not in so many words. The closest they’d come was in those same woods when Adora nearly passed out from blood loss. 

As it turned out, she’d been stabbed during the battle by a bayonet without realizing it, because her chest was bound so tightly she could barely even feel the wound. She’d thought it was just a scratch. 

She was wrong.

They’d had to undo some of the bindings, and Adora had felt her heart pounding the whole time both from the adrenaline of the situation and from fear of being found out. Glimmer had saved her using the red thread of her coat. Bow had berated her for tying the binds so tightly. 

Then they’d helped her through it, taken her home, and never looked back. Neither of them had commented on anything they did or didn’t see, and neither had treated her any differently since.

Anyway, that didn’t matter as much right now. 

Currently, Adora was slumped against a brick wall in an alleyway hoping she didn’t just ruin their one chance of intercepting information. She closed her eyes for a moment before remembering the way Catra had stumbled in calling the Revolution _our_ cause.

An idea sprung into her head half-formed, but there was enough there to work with. 

Adora took off the stifling red coat and loosened her collar before she practically sprinted down the alleyway, feet pounding the stones beneath her. She ducked and wove through the streets she’d spent her childhood memorizing until she reached the city’s edge and began to make for the encampment in the forest. 

Since their division was still understaffed, they didn’t have much in the way of commanding officers. Bow would be waiting for her in the command tent, she knew, and Glimmer was likely to be there too, since Micah doubled as their de facto leader. Also, because she and Bow had been courting for years now and friends for longer, and they knew each other’s thinking as well as they knew their own.

After walking the path through the woods that had become ingrained into her, she made it to the clearing and saw the familiar sight of blue uniforms and sturdy tents. Without any further hesitation, she nodded at the salutes the guards at the sides of the tent gave her and opened the flaps. 

Bow was poring over maps on the table while Micah helped arrange small figurines, representing clusters of soldiers. Glimmer was reading in the corner. When Adora — who was _Adam_ , for the time being, because she knew it was safer when at the encampment not to mix the two — entered, they noticed instantly.

“Captain Fairchild,” Micah said, standing. “Good. How was your mission?”

Adam’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Unsuccessful, I’m afraid. Monroe recognized me too early, which I worried would ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

“So maybe he’s smarter than we thought,” Glimmer muttered. She snapped her book shut and stood, walking over to where they were gathered around the table.

“That was one of our last options.” Bow shook his head, frowning. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I can’t be our way in,” Adam said, holding up a hand at the frustrated expressions that flickered across their faces. “But I think I know someone who can.”

*** * ***

For the last four years, Catra’s routine had been the same. 

Every day, she woke up just after dawn; left the comfort of her own bed to go prepare food for her, Charles, and whatever guests they might have; and checked the supply of ale in the cellar.

Then, she would make sure all the mugs and glasses were clean. Once people started rolling in, usually just after noon, the bar would be wiped down and the musicians she employed would be setting up. 

Scorpia, one of the other women that worked there (and, though she’d probably never tell her, one of her most trusted friends) would come in shortly after and they would talk about nothing and everything.

They would make idle conversation and finish cleaning up until the first groups of men looking for a drink showed up with pockets that clinked and jingled with coins, and then the rest of the night would be spent cleaning mugs and pouring ale.

It was a boring, unfulfilling way to live. And, if Catra was being honest, it was made worse by her husband’s presence in it. 

She could never really explain _why_ exactly that was — perhaps the fact that it was arranged by her parents before they passed, perhaps because he only cared about her when he wanted to put his cock in her, or perhaps because she could never fully bring herself to find pleasure in the arms of a man — but it was true. 

Catra had resigned herself to this life — especially after she and Charles learned last winter that it wasn’t likely she’d ever be pregnant — with a sort of detached acceptance. 

Then, a Rebellion captain walked into her establishment, and she knew instantly something was about to change.

Being the owner and proprietor of an inn (Charles could say it was _his_ property all he wanted, but they both knew the truth of the ownership), Catra had become highly observant. She knew when a man was about to lose at cards, she knew when a man needed a new drink, and, apparently, she knew when a man wasn’t a man at all.

Even now, three days later, Catra almost wondered how she’d known with such confidence. 

There was something about the lieutenant — Fairchild, she remembered — that had captured her attention from the beginning. Most of the men, army and civilian alike, that came into the _Cradle_ held themselves differently than that. They lumbered. They swaggered. Their footsteps were heavy and loud, as if trying to prove their masculinity with every step.

Fairchild was different. 

His eyes looked quick and intelligent, and scanned the room with rapid speed before finding a table, and he moved with the grace of someone who knew exactly the strength and capability of his own body. He didn’t make a sound when he moved.

 _That_ was intriguing, and Catra didn’t get much intrigue in her day to day life. She decided to stoke the fire a little. 

Most of the time, when she served most single men in the early afternoon, they would either already be drunk or have something of a desperate quality to them. Either way, they were begging to be noticed. 

He was quite the opposite, and looked as though he preferred to have not been seen.

He’d even tried to respect her space as a married woman, and she caught the way his eyes flicked downwards when he saw the dull silver ring on her finger.

This was another thing her clients tended to have trouble with. More nights than not, she and the rest of the girls working rejected advance after advance from drunk men who often had more confidence than was deserved. Respect was an uncommon gift.

Then her husband had cut in, trying in the same breath to protect her virtue and his own reputation, and she’d left them to it. But rather than go back to wiping down tables and replacing barrels of ale, she kept watch from the corner of the room as the lieutenant’s eyes widened in fear without her husband noticing.

Catra knew she probably shouldn’t have done it, but something about this stranger made her want to jump in and spare him her husband’s wrath. 

So she did, using a half-formed lie about rebels in another room. Her husband hated the idea of the colonies leaving England, as he told her frequently. It was like he had completely forgotten that she had been born and raised in Boston and had felt the effects of the British tariffs firsthand.

And, well, Catra had known that the lieutenant had been lying about being a man from careful observation, but she’d known he was lying about being in service to the Crown since the moment he stepped foot in the room. 

The uniform was two years out of date, after all.

Catra had figured she wasn’t going to see him again after all of that, and had made her peace with it. It would make for a good story for Scorpia later.

So when she turned around, wiping flecks of food and dirt off a mug she had found rolling around on the floor, Catra had not expected to see the same lieutenant in a simple brown overcoat standing at the other side of her bar.

“Oh,” Catra said, swallowing. “Lieutenant Fairchild. I thought you’d decided not to return to us.” Her words were careful, and she scanned his face for any sign of… anything, really. His expression was neutral.

“It’s _Captain_ Fairchild, actually,” He corrected. “And I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs. Monroe, but there’s been a change of plans.”

“Call me Catra,” She said without thinking. “I’m afraid my husband is…” Catra trailed off. Her husband was currently out fucking some girl he met at the docks, but that was impolite to say out loud to someone she barely knew. “...Currently indisposed.”

“Perfect.” His eyes darted around the room, making sure they weren’t being watched. “Because I’m actually here to speak with you.”

Catra frowned, setting the mug down. Her voice dropped in volume. “Captain, we both know—”

“Adam,” He interrupted.

“What?”

“If I’m allowed to call you by _your_ first name, I insist you return the favor.”

Her eyes narrowed just a bit, but he seemed earnest enough. “Adam,” She said, trying it out experimentally. “We both know what my husband does in his spare time. What makes you think I’m going to talk to a rebel officer?”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes scanning her face for any cracks. “You’re from Boston,” He said, without leaving room for an argument.

“I am.”

“So you’re local.”

“You’re very bright. Is there a point to this?”

Adam ignored the comment. “That means your family is from Boston, too. _That_ means you’ve seen exactly what the Crown does to its working citizens. And my guess,” He said, stepping forward just a bit as he lowered his voice, “Is that you’re not as committed to your husband’s viewpoint as you’d have him believe.”

Catra swallowed. She didn’t respond right away, and instead pulled out a ledger and pretended to write in it. “Why, _yes_ , Mr. Smith, of course you can have a room upstairs,” She said loudly, for the benefit of the others in the room, and pulled out a key from under the bar. 

She slid it across to him without breaking eye contact, eyes burning into his. “Last door on the right. I’ll be up in a moment to make sure everything is in order.”

Adam frowned for a moment in confusion before realizing her intention. His face smoothed, and he nodded and took it. “Thank you, Mrs. Monroe,” He said, meeting the same volume she had risen to, and tried to hide a small smile. “I’ll see you shortly.” 

When Catra came up a few minutes later, being careful to avoid the visual of the two of them going up at the same time, she hurried into the room and locked it behind her with her own key. Adam was leaning by the window, watching the street below. 

He pushed off when he saw her enter. “Can I ask why—”

“The walls have ears here,” She said in explanation. “You know as well as I do that this bar’s clientele wouldn’t take kindly to a Rebellion officer among them.” She pulled out a small watch and read it pointedly. “I don’t have much time. Tell me, Captain, what do you want from me?”

Adam blinked, tapping his fingers against the desk for a moment. “I want— the _Rebellion_ wants you to spy on your husband. We know he’s one of the first British points of contact for getting out information in this area. He was a high-ranking officer during the Seven Years’ War, right?”

“He was injured, but yes.”

Adam hummed in understanding. “Explains why he’s not leading a battalion right now. That and his height, anyway. Has he always been that short?”

Catra hid a smile. “Why me, Captain?”

“For one, you’ll be less suspicious. If he _does_ realize there’s a leak, he won’t expect it to be his own wife, which will give us time to prepare a safe way out for you.”

Catra thought about this. It would be a risk, yes, but she’d become nothing if not familiar with Charles’ routines. She knew where he hid the documents he received every fortnight from a courier around back, and she knew how to decipher the poorly-conceived code they were written in. “I’ll consider it,” She said. “But I have two conditions.”

“Name them,” Adam said, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

Catra narrowed her eyes a fraction, as if trying to make sure she could trust his word. “None of my staff will be harmed at any moment, regardless of their involvement—”

Adam nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“—And I get to know your name.” She crossed her arms.

A pause, followed by rapid blinking. “You know my name. It’s Adam.”

A slow smirk spread across Catra’s face as she walked over and took his hat off, setting it gently on the desk. Then, she reached a hand up to undo the ribbon keeping his hair back, letting it fall loose around his face and shoulders.

 _He looks softer like this_ , she thought idly. _More gentle._ “No, _your_ name,” She said slowly, throwing Adam’s earlier words back at him. “Not his.”

Another pause. “So you _do_ know,” He said quietly. 

Catra nodded. “I’ve known since I first saw you.”

They were both quiet for a long moment. “Adora.” It was spoken softly, and Catra could tell by the way her eyes dropped quickly to the floor that she wasn’t used to saying it freely.

It hung in the air for a second before Catra cleared her throat. “I like it better.”

“What?”

“Better than Adam, I mean. It… suits you better,” Catra said, watching a tentative smile spread across Adora’s face. “Alright, captain. A deal is a deal. How will I let you know when I’ve reached my decision?”

“I could come here,” Adora offered, reaching for her ribbon again. “Or you could come to the encampment.”

“My husband will get suspicious if I’m away for too long.”

“So I’ll come here,” She said easily. “I’ll keep my face hidden.” At Catra’s concerned look, Adora stepped forward a little, trying to reassure her. “I promise.”

Catra nodded hesitantly. “I’ll send word when it’s safe to come by. But if my husband is home—”

“If your husband is home, I won’t,” Adora said lightly, tying her hair back up in its ponytail. “I’ve written directions to the encampment down here. If you _do_ decide to work with us, Catra, I—” She trailed off, putting a neatly folded slip of paper on the desk. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for agreeing to this.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Catra said immediately. She winced a little at the harshness of her tone. “But…” She trailed off, exhaling sharply. “Well, thank you for trusting me. I-I don’t get much of that in my life.”

Adora frowned, her hand stilling in midair on its way to pick up her hat. “Charles doesn’t trust you?”

“He doesn’t trust _anyone_ , which includes me. Especially now that I’m not…” She swallowed down bile at the memories of trying day after day for a baby only _he_ wanted. “Now that I’m not useful to him anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Adora frowned, running her fingers over the edge of her hat. “This is probably the best-run inn I’ve ever seen.”

Catra smiled a little at the compliment, but it turned bittersweet when she shook her head. “That’s not the kind of useful I mean.”

“Oh.” Adora’s eyes widened with realization. “ _Oh._ I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright, it’s— it’s in the past now,” Catra said, shrugging off the memories. “Anyway, suffice it to say… well, maybe you were right about where my loyalties lie.”

Adora held her hat in front of her chest, as if unsure what to do with it. “Well, the Rebellion thanks you for your consideration. We’ll send any form of payment we can, but… well, we’re not exactly rolling in it right now.”

“That’s alright,” Catra said, and meant it. “If I suddenly come into a large sum of money, my husband will think I’m either having an affair or secretly rich, and neither of those things would bode well for me.”

Adora smiled and hummed in agreement before putting her hat back on. It was like she transformed as she did, and Catra knew suddenly that she was once again looking at the soldier that had walked through her door. “Well, Ms. Fairchild,” She said, opening the door in a clear invitation. “I’m sure you have work to do. I’ll send word when I can.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Monroe,” Adora said, voice deepening even as she left the room. “I… I really do appreciate this. You’re putting yourself at risk for us. We won’t forget it. Oh, and one more thing,” She said, turning half to face her. “If you _are_ going to work with us, it’ll have to be Captain Fairchild.”

“Of course, _Captain_ ,” She said, putting emphasis on the word with a slow smirk. “My mistake.” Adora nodded in front of her before turning again to leave, walking down the stairs back through the inn. 

And, well, if Catra let her eyes drag down the strong frame of Adora’s body as she did, there was no one around to notice.

*** * ***

When Charles came home that night, almost swallowed up by the crowd of the tavern, he was in a worse mood than usual. “Blasted rebels,” He muttered, sliding behind Catra as he moved behind the bar. He poured himself a drink, put it to his lips, and finished it. “Do you know what they’ve done now?”

Catra kept her face carefully neutral even as her hands stilled where she was cleaning a mug. She thought instantly of the note folded in the pocket of her dress. “I haven’t heard any news yet. What happened?”

“Those _fuckers_ ,” He said harshly, and she flinched a little at the sudden malice in his voice, “I _knew_ I recognized the man in here. He was dressed in a British uniform a few days ago. What was his name?”

“That could be anyone, Charles,” She said carefully, returning her eyes to the mug she was cleaning and trying not to let her face turn pale. “Look around the room, you’ll find thirty men like him.”

“Not this one.” Charles shook his head, leaning closer. His breath smelled of ale. “ Fairchild. That was his name. Well, I checked with Major Pitcairn, and _Adam_ _Fairchild_ deserted the British army two years ago.” He shook his head in disgust. “Those bastards are trying to spy on me.”

Catra blinked before fixing her eyes back on him with what she hoped was a neutral expression. “They would never be able to,” She said, trying to smile. “You’re too smart for that.” 

A prideful, almost surprised smirk spread across his face. “Thank you, darling. I’m glad you, of all people, can see that. You know what? Let them try,” He said, stepping back. “Even if they manage it, it’ll only be a matter of time before they’re caught and hung for treason. What do I care?” With a sloppy kiss to her cheek, he left, presumably to go chat up some of the soldiers.

 _That was close_ , Catra thought, trying to calm her breathing. The blood had begun to drain from her face at the word ‘treason’, but she had turned quickly to hide it. Luckily, she knew her husband was both just stupid enough and just vain enough where the easy, weak compliment she gave him would work as a deterrent, which she would need if—

God, she was actually considering doing it, wasn’t she?

She set the mug down with a soft thud. If she did this, it would be risky, dangerous, and possibly get her killed. But it _also_ meant the Rebellion would have a legitimate chance against the British army as a direct result of her work. 

Catra considered the facts. 

Her husband didn’t like her —or, at the very least, didn’t care about her — and she hated him. She was stuck in a boring, unfulfilling routine even in the place she loved most in the world. 

So here was a chance to do some good, some _real_ good, and save lives doing it. She would help people. 

On a more… _personal_ note, she would see Adora. Frequently, from the sound of it. Catra wasn’t sure why she was so drawn to her — perhaps it was those intelligent eyes, perhaps the hard slope of her shoulders even under the coat, or perhaps the fact that she’d just made Catra’s life _far_ more interesting — but she was. 

Catra thought of everything she had endured living with Charles for the last four years, all the suffering and the boredom and the praying for things to be over, and thought of how much longer she would live.

In an instant, she made up her mind. 

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Catra asked, setting the towel down next to where the mug rested on the table. “I received an urgent letter earlier, and I haven’t had time to respond.”

Charles looked around at the crowd uneasily. “Are you sure? Will you and the girls be able to deal with the customers? I can’t serve all this ale by myself, you know.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “What is this letter about that makes it so urgent?”

Catra pushed down the flash of annoyance she felt and plastered on a smile. As for the other women working, she didn’t need to look to know they would be fine. This was not the busiest they’d ever been, nor was it the first time someone had needed to leave for a few moments. She knew they could handle it. 

“It’s about this month’s shipment of hops and grain,” She lied, knowing he wouldn’t argue if he thought it was something for the inn. _Four years, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about running it_ , she thought with a twinge of exasperation. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Catra tried to slow down her steps to a normal pace, but her heartbeat had begun to pick up, and she could feel it hammering in her ribs. As soon as she got to the bedroom she shared with Charles, she fumbled with the key for half a second before moving to where she knew he kept the correspondence he received. 

She threw the drawer open, moving aside the clothes there, before she saw a small stack of hastily tied papers. As Catra’s hand reached for them, she hesitated. If she did this, there would be no going back. 

Closing her eyes, she thought of strong arms, quick eyes, and hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She thought of the lives that she could save. 

Catra thought of a different Boston, a better one with a better future.

Her hand closed around the letters. 

Hastily untying the loose twine around them, she took the topmost few out and skimmed them, eyes scanning rapidly over the pages. She took out a small notebook from her desk and held the letters close to the light. 

Beneath her feet, she heard loud cheering and voice raising to sing as one. The music in the tavern was muffled by the floorboards as it floated up to her, and she began to copy the first piece of paper while humming along to it absentmindedly. 

_Rule, Britannia,_ came the voices, some of which slurred drunkenly, _Britannia rule the waves!_

Catra smiled to herself, relishing for a moment in the irony, and dipped her quill in the inkwell again. 

*** * ***

Two days later, Adora was pacing around the strategy tent reading a report from Philadelphia when she heard voices rising outside. _This can’t be good,_ she thought, setting it down on the table before moving toward the flaps of the tent. 

She opened it to see Catra arguing with the two guards posted outside. “—Ma’am, for the last time—”

“What’s going on?” Adora asked, back straightening as a low, commanding edge slipped into her voice. “Explain yourself, private.”

The soldier paled, and swallowed thickly. “Apologies, sir, b-but this woman says she’s here to speak to you, and I know there’s no way you—”

“This woman,” Adora interrupted crisply, “is telling the truth. Listen to her next time.” She turned to Catra, the authoritative tone still present in her voice. “My apologies for the interruption, Mrs. Monroe. Please, come in.” 

She held up the tent flaps, and Catra raised an interested eyebrow as she stepped through. “One more thing, Kyle,” Adora paused. “If you turn away a guest out of hand again, I’ll have you put on latrine duty for a month.”

His eyes flew wide in horror as he nodded, and Adora knew her work was done. She gave him and his companion a crisp nod before re-entering the tent.

“Impressive display, Captain,” Catra said, lips curling up into a smile. “I’m sure you have work to do, but I wanted to let you know I’ve made a decision.”

“Oh,” Adora said, trying to control the jump in her heart rate. “Well, by all means, spare me the suspense. Will you do it?”

Catra didn’t answer.

She reached silently into one of her coat pockets and pulled out a small brown notebook. She set it gently on the table, and her fingers remained on it for a moment before they fell to her side. “Most of what he has seems to center around a plan for an incoming battalion. It’s said to arrive in three weeks’ time. I’ll send more when I can,” She said briskly, and turned to leave. 

“Mrs. Monroe—”

“Please,” Catra said, holding up a hand, “Don’t call me that, Ado— _Captain_ ,” She corrected quickly, remembering their setting. “We’ve been over this.”

Adora nodded, putting her hands up in surrender. “My apologies. I-I just wanted to thank you, Catra.” She moved closer, putting a hand on the notebook. It was still faintly warm from its time in Catra’s coat pocket. “This is... more important than you know--”

“Believe me, I know plenty,” She interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Including, Captain, that you all should consider relocating this encampment. You’ve been compromised. The location is mentioned in several of the letters.” Adora could place a hint of irritation in her voice at what she considered to be a belittling remark about her intelligence. 

That was, of course, not what she had meant to convey. 

Adora’s eyes widened as she heard the news. “I’ll talk to the others at once. Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment. “Um… it’s important to the Rebellion, yes,” She said quietly, taking a small step closer, then another, until she was directly in front of Catra. “Deeply. There’s no question about that. But... that wasn’t who I meant.”

“...And who did you mean?” Catra asked quietly, swallowing down the butterflies in her stomach. Adora was close enough to her that she could almost feel the warmth radiating off of her. 

“Me,” She said simply, offering a small smile. Her eyes flicked down to Catra’s lips, and from this close, she could just barely hear her breath hitching. 

Realizing suddenly how close the two of them were, Adora cleared her throat loudly in an effort to break the tension. “Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Catra. I won’t keep you longer.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Catra felt her cheeks turning red even as she said the words. “I’ll see you soon, Captain.”

Adora nodded, raising a hand in farewell. As the tent flaps swished behind Catra’s retreating form, Adora watched her go. “I hope so,” She murmured to an empty room. 

She looked at where the notebook sat innocuously on the table for a moment, then strode quickly to the flaps. “Find me Micah, Bow, and Glimmer at once,” She said. “There’s something we need to discuss.”


	2. heart of oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As October makes itself known, leaves turn to red and gold. The chill to the air sets in. 
> 
> Adora climbs a tree. Catra lights a candle. The Rebellion relocates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! first of all, let me just say im a little blown away by the response this fic has gotten so far, and i'm very excited for you all to see everything that's coming next. this fic is probably going to be 6 or 7 chapters long (haven't decided which), so stay tuned! im going to be updating tags and ratings as we go, and today im adding 'angst with a happy ending' just so we all remember. it will get better. love you guys!
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are appreciated, and you can find alex and i on tumblr at @adorasheart and @brightbolt. come say hi!
> 
> tw: implied sexual assault, physical abuse (i don't go into graphic detail, but it's definitely there)

It had been two weeks to the day since Catra had stepped foot into the strategy tent and begun her career as an official spy for the Rebellion, and she had begun to think of it as another (albeit slightly more dangerous) part of her routine. 

During the day, she would act as though everything was normal. She would wipe down the bar time and time again, clean the mugs and glasses, and keep the inn and tavern whipped into shape. 

Then, Charles would usually come home from some secret rendezvous later in the evening. He seemed to be going more and more frequently, which she took to mean he was either having an affair or engaged in some sort of underground activity. As long as it meant he was gone, she didn’t particularly care. 

Regardless, he went to bed early most nights, and she would lie beside him until she was sure he was asleep and then softly pad over to the desk, where she would transcribe documents into a small notebook (one she kept on her person at all times) by the light of a candle and the moon. 

Catra would wait for a day when he was out of town or busy all day. She would tell Scorpia she was visiting a friend on the other side of town who was badly ill and needed help. Then, she would take the notebook, a traveling cloak, and a small knife that she kept concealed in her boot and would make her way to the encampment with the hood up and her head down. 

The guards, after the first day, had learned not to give her any trouble. Today, they settled for a nod, which she returned. She pushed the tent flaps open to see Adora, who was currently Adam, leaning over the table. There were two other people in the room she wasn’t familiar with.

“Oh! You must be Mrs. Fairchild,” said the first, standing up as she entered. He was a tall man, just barely taller than Adam, with warm brown skin and a pleasant smile. Approaching her, he offered a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” He said, eyes crinkling as he grinned at her. “I’m this regiment’s head tactician. Call me Bow.”

“Uh, it’s my pleasure,” Catra said as she took the offered hand and shook it. A small, confused frown crept onto her face. “I-I’m sorry, did you just call me Mrs—”

“It’s—it’s just a code name,” Adam said, trying unsuccessfully to hide a blush. “To protect your identity in case someone hears us discussing you. For what it’s worth, it wasn’t my idea.” 

There was a short, soft-looking woman with a twinkle in her eye that stood next to Bow, wearing a white apron that had what looked like dried blood on it. She raised an eyebrow as a cheeky grin spread on her face. “Be honest, Captain. You didn’t exactly _complain_ about it.” 

Catra turned to him with an amused look on her face, and he stared at the ceiling. His voice was a little strained. “Yep. Thank you, Glimmer, for reminding us all of that.”

She chuckled, moving over to give Catra a small curtsy that she returned easily. “Well, like the captain said, I’m Glimmer. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You too,” Catra said, eyes dipping down to the stains on the apron. “...Um. Can I ask about the blood?”

“My father is our head surgeon, and I’m in training as his apprentice,” Glimmer explained easily. “He’s helping some of the soldiers with drills right now, or he’d be here with us.”

Catra hummed in understanding. “Right. Um. Well, I’m sorry it took so long to get done. My husband hasn’t been as absent as I hoped.” She took the notebook out of her pocket. “I actually filled this one up, so I suppose I’ll need to find a new one soon.”

“We’d be happy to provide you with as many as you need,” Adam said immediately, ignoring the blush that colored his cheeks. “It’s the least I— the least _we_ can do.”

Bow and Glimmer shared a knowing look over the table, but remained silent.

Catra considered this. Her husband would eventually be suspicious if he found out how much money she’d be spending on small, easily concealed notebooks, of all things, and paper was still expensive thanks to the tariffs the Crown had imposed in years past. 

She nodded. “That… would be great,” Catra said, allowing just a twinge of gratitude to enter her voice. Her lips quirked up in a smile at his grin. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” said Bow, shuffling a stack of papers in his hands. “The intel you gave us about the base was spot-on. We’re making arrangements to relocate as soon as we can.”

“That reminds me,” Adam said, brow furrowing in contemplation. “We’ll have to find a way to get the new location to you.” He thought for a second before shaking his head. “Well, we won’t worry about that right now. I know you have to get back to Charles.” The name sounded somehow wrong leaving his lips. Catra almost wondered if she imagined the distaste in his voice.

Catra dipped her head. “I’m afraid so,” She said, watching Adam’s jaw tighten momentarily. “But I’ll be back when I can.”

“Please, let me show you out—”

“Very kind of you, Captain,” She said pointedly, raising a hand to stop him. “But I can find my own way.”

For a moment, she thought Adam would press it further in the effort of pursuing some further courtship, like so many other men would. She supposed the fact that he _wasn’t_ a man helped to explain why he didn’t. 

Instead, he bowed his head lightly, and stepped out of her personal space. “Of course, Mrs. Monroe. My apologies. I meant no disrespect.” 

Catra, who was thoroughly unused to the kind of consideration she was receiving, wasn’t sure what to do next. “No, I-I understand. It’s alright, Captain,” She said, faltering a little. “I just… have no patience for others trying to shepherd me along as though I can’t see or decide for myself.”

Adam nodded and gave her a gentle smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, ma’am. It won’t happen again.” He seemed to have forgotten that Bow and Glimmer were in the room with them, and cleared his throat. “Have a safe journey back to the inn. We’ll send for you when we can.”

“Be safe, Captain,” Catra said from the door. The ghost of a smile played upon her lips. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

*** * ***

By the time the battalion arrived from England in huge man-o-wars that would remain docked in the harbor for nearly a month, the Rebellion had long since changed location. 

Adora kept watch in the forest near their former encampment a few times a week, and was on one such occasion greeted with the sight of a whole squadron of lobster-backs throwing their hats and swords in the dirt when they realized they’d been outsmarted. 

It had been _incredibly_ satisfying.

As it turned out, Charles had actually _been_ there, and Adora had taken a special kind of pleasure in watching his face twist in anger as his hands balled in tight fists by his sides.

She had also taken a special kind of pleasure in helping the Rebellion thwart him three times after that, having learned the information the Crown intended to capitalize on beforehand from Catra’s notes. After the first time, Adora had resisted the temptation to watch his face from the trees or the woods, but she thought of it often when she needed to smile.

By this point, though, it had been _weeks_ since their last intelligence meeting, and now that the more urgent problem of the encampment’s location and the immediate problems that followed it — locating supplies, adjusting to a new space, and re-organizing all of the structures once, and then twice after an unfortunate run-in with wolves — had been solved, Adora was beginning to worry about Catra’s safety. 

Adora realized too late that she had no way of getting a letter to her that didn’t involve a fair amount of risk, as she wasn’t sure of Charles’ routine and she couldn’t risk being seen in uniform by the numerous guard patrols that now stalked the streets of Boston. 

Speaking of Boston, it was quickly becoming clear that whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. They saw more and more enlistments into local militias, and welcomed more than a few new soldiers into their ranks. 

Because of that, Adora began to visit the city more. Normally, her errands involved either supplies, recruiting from local bars and taverns, or both. She’d taken to wandering aimlessly through the streets after her work was done. 

Somehow, she always wound up outside the inn. It wasn’t a conscious choice — not that she knew of, anyway — but it _was_ common, and it _was_ risky. She knew that.

(But when she caught a glimpse of Catra in the window or heard her voice through the door as she walked by, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She would settle for the glimpses for as long as she had to.)

One night, when October had begun to settle in and the chill to the air became more and more pronounced every day, she found it had happened again. Her hair hung around her face in waves, and her ribbon sat dormant in her pocket.

The wind whipped past her, smelling of salt and brine from the ocean mingled with a hint of smoke billowing out of a nearby chimney. Adora considered her options. She knew it wouldn’t be safe to go into the tavern, especially not when she could hear so many voices inside. She _especially_ couldn’t push her luck with Charles. 

She reconsidered her options, and her eyes fell on the space next to the tavern. The _Cradle_ sat on the corner of the street next to a small square that had at its center a tall, sturdy-looking oak tree. Her eyes were drawn to the thick branches, and she noticed that one of them stretched out close to a window of the farthest room of the inn. 

Adora narrowed her eyes in satisfaction as a grin curled onto her face. _Perfect_.

Looking around quickly to make sure she wouldn’t be seen, Adora began to hastily climb the tree. 

Years of living on the streets had, over time, also become years of living on the rooftops (her past was littered with petty theft, and for whatever reason people rarely ever looked up when searching for a ragged orphan child), which meant she was able to scale it with relative ease.

When Adora got to the branch and realized for the first time how high up she was, the first gentle prick of regret hit her, but it was too late to turn back now. She moved slowly, careful both to maintain her balance and to be as quiet as possible, and began to creep towards the window.

Adora made it almost three quarters of the way to the window before the first creaking, bending sound came from behind her. She picked up her pace. She was so close now, and the window was justwithin reach. 

Then, the creaking noise behind her grew louder. Within the span of a second, it became a crack. She heard the branch beginning to break beneath her.

Judging the distance from there to the window with a keen (if slightly panicked) eye, she realized her only option was to jump. 

Adora leapt through the air as the break in the branch ripped through it, and her fingers found purchase on the edge of the windowsill. Bracing her feet against the wall in front of her, she swung an arm over the ledge and pried open the window. It was stuck.

 _Just my luck_ , Adora thought, grunting in frustration and exertion. She used her legs to push her shoulder against it hard. 

Whatever it was stuck on vanished, and the twin panes of the window folded inwards almost instantly, sending her crashing into the room. 

It was, admittedly, not her most graceful moment. The resounding thump of her body hitting the floor was loud enough to make her regret choosing this as her way in, but there was no time for that now.

Thankfully, the room was unoccupied. As Adora stood and dusted herself off, pulling her shirt and vest taut under the brown civilian’s coat she wore, she realized it was the same one she had first convinced Catra to join them in.

Moments later, she heard a set of footsteps rapidly approaching the door. Adora looked around the room frantically, trying to find anywhere to conceal herself, and settled for pressing herself to the wall next to the door. 

It flew open half a second later, and Catra walked in carefully, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

“Oh! Good. It’s you,” Adora said, exhaling in relief, and watched Catra nearly jump out of her skin at the noise. She was brandishing something in front of her— a letter opener, Adora realized. 

She couldn’t help but be endeared by the sight of it: the blade must’ve been three inches at most, but Catra was pointing it at her as though it was a full-length sword. 

Adora raised her hands in surrender. “My apologies for the noise,” She said, clearing her throat and jerking her head over to where the shutters swung open. “And for the window.”

“How did you— that was locked,” Catra said, almost in disbelief. She let out a deep breath, and the tension drained from her shoulders, leaving behind weariness. She dropped her arms back to her sides. “You shouldn’t be here, Captain.” Her voice sounded strained. 

Adora frowned in concern, moving towards her. “I know. But I was worried,” She said honestly. “We hadn’t heard from you in weeks, and the encampment’s been relocated, so I—” Adora sighed, and resisted the temptation to brush a strand of Catra’s hair gently from her face. “I’m sorry for intruding, truly. But I wanted to give you this,” She said, taking out a small slip of paper and holding it between two long, slender fingers. “It’s the new location.”

Catra looked at it where it sat between her fingers for a long moment before casting her eyes downwards. “Thank you. But I meant it,” She said, meeting Adora’s eyes with a weary set to her face. “There’s half a battalion of Redcoats in my dining room, and Charles—” Her throat closed up as she said the name, and she cut off, staring at the floor again. Adora saw her jaw clench hard. 

_Wait, is that—_ Adora frowned, looking closer at where Catra’s neck met her shoulders. There was a purpling bruise there that she could see highlighted in the pale candlelight, and there was another like it peeking out from her collarbone, as if someone had recently grabbed her there hard. 

The sight of it made Adora’s blood run cold. She took a careful step closer. “Has he hurt you?” The words were soft, but there was an edge of white-hot anger that simmered below the surface. “Catra, if he’s laid a finger on you—”

“Adora.” Catra put a hand on Adora’s arm, feeling solid muscle under the sleeve. “It’s nothing. I’m alright. He just…” She shook her head. “He’s been frustrated recently. He doesn’t like being outsmarted, and there aren’t many other people to take out anger on, so…” She trailed off, rubbing absently at her neck. “But it’s nothing. Really.”

“I’ll kill him,” Adora said quietly. “Say the word, and I’ll kill him.” Her voice was low and serious. 

“No,” Catra said simply, shaking her head. “No, it would cause too much suspicion.” She offered up a weak smile. “But... I appreciate the offer.” She was quiet for a moment. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the notebooks Adora had delivered to the inn. 

“Here.” Catra offered it to Adora. “I haven’t been able to get much done with everything that’s been going on, but I was able to copy some of what he has written down.”

Adora accepted it gratefully. She turned it over in her fingers for a moment, hesitating, before looking back up at Catra. “If you’re not able to leave, we need to find another way to meet.”

She nodded, scanning the room until her eyes landed on something sitting behind Adora on the windowsill. She turned to see a tall, unlit candle in a holder. Catra picked it up, then looked over to her. “This window is visible from the street. I’m putting this on the ledge.” 

There was a loud cheer from downstairs, followed by muffled shouts for more ale, and Catra’s eyes darted towards the floor where it came from and lingered there. Adora saw her breathing pick up, and watched her blink a few times before turning back to her. 

“You need to leave,” Catra said, voice picking up speed. “When it’s safe to come, when—” She swallowed. “When _Charles_ is gone, I’ll light this candle. That’s how you’ll know.” There was a strained, almost panicked quality to her words that Adora had never heard from her. 

_It’s fear_ , Adora realized. _She’s… afraid._

Adora’s eyes softened with understanding, and she nodded. “Of course, Catra. I-I know you’re busy,” She said, putting the book in the inner pocket of her coat. There was more she wanted to say. _Come with me,_ she thought, eyes straying again to the bruises. _I’ll keep you safe. I promise._

She cleared her throat. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” Adora turned to leave, tipping her hat gently in farewell, but the hand on her arm kept her from moving. 

“Wait.” Catra’s voice was hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “Just— stay with me a second longer.”

“Are you sure?” Adora asked. Her voice was quiet, loaded with caution and a faint, lingering thread of hope. “I know it’s not safe for either of us if I—”

“I don’t care,” Catra said quietly. Her voice had a resigned sort of weight to it. “Stay. Please.” 

The warm hand on her arm pulled gently, and Adora moved along with it until Catra pulled her in for an embrace that Adora could only describe as desperate. She tucked her face into Adora’s shoulder and breathed deeply, letting a shuddering breath go. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Adora wrapped her arms firmly around Catra’s back and returned it. 

“It’s alright,” She murmured, not knowing what else to say. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

When they pulled apart a moment later, with one of Catra’s hands splayed on her chest and the other resting gently against her shoulder, Adora remained close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of her body. 

Adora had never quite realized how much _taller_ she was until this moment, when her arms were still lingering around Catra. Looking down at where Catra was staring firmly at the buttons of her coat, she realized her chin could fit over her head without much issue or adjustment. 

“I’m sorry, I-I don’t—” Catra ground the heel of her palm into her eyes almost angrily, wiping away the traitorous tears spilling from them. “I don’t know why I—”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to apologize.” Adora stroked idly at where her hands had come to rest on Catra’s waist. She gave her a soft smile. “I’ll be watching for the candle.” She waited a second before walking back over to the window again. 

When Adora reached it, she paused, hands on the ledge, and turned. “Be safe, Catra. I’ll be back before you know it.”

A flicker of a smile spread across her face, and Adora felt a sense of quiet relief. “Don’t get yourself killed, Captain.”

She smiled. “I’ll do my best.” Adora looked back at her once more before she carefully climbed out of the window. She began moving down the side of the building before dropping down to the street, and as soon as her feet hit the pavement, she was running.

(This, however, meant she missed Catra lingering in the room. She was able, just barely, to smell Adora on the wind that blew gently through the open window. With shaking hands, Catra stepped forward to take one last look at the tall shape weaving effortlessly through the streets before she closed it again.) 

*** * ***

A few days later, there was a knock at her door in the middle of the afternoon.

Opening it and casting a glance around the street, Catra was greeted with a small brown paper-wrapped package. 

She undid the carefully-tied twine and peeled the layers of paper to reveal her notebook. Catra was almost surprised to see it, and began to flip through the pages to see if anything had changed. It was missing a few conspicuous pages, but they’d been removed with near-surgical precision, and the binding hadn’t been damaged at all. 

As she turned the pages idly, a folded piece of paper near the middle caught her eye. She ran her fingers over it gently before she took it out to see a small, tidily-written note. 

_My dear C,_

_A gift in memory of our time together. When you see this, light a candle for me._

_I’ll be with you always._

_—A_

Catra almost couldn’t help the small smile that played upon her lips. She knew instantly that the careful wording was to erase suspicion if someone else picked up the note, but as she studied the careful loops of Adora’s handwriting, she let herself imagine a different setting where the words were all true. No pretense, no hiding, just a note of comfort and compassion. 

She pocketed the note.

Catra’s mind lingered on _light a candle for me_. Given how quickly the notebook had appeared at the front of her door, she realized Adora was probably nearby in the hopes that it would be received smoothly. She looked around the tavern. 

The inn wasn’t busy right now, considering the fact that it was just barely getting into the afternoon. A few stray soldiers were strewn about, drinking and chatting idly while one or more cheated at cards. Her only other guest was an old man in the corner that she always made sure to slip a little extra food, but beyond that she was alone.

Charles was gone, too, which allowed her a brief respite.

The arrival of the battalion had done nothing to increase his spirits, and had meant more work for both of them: he was pulled into more and more strategic meetings, and she had to deal with quartering and feeding soldiers at the inn at more than double the rate of normal. 

Worst of all was the fact that the Rebellion was always just one step ahead of them thanks to Catra’s work, because _that_ meant his temper was worsening day by day.

He drank more, he threatened her more, and while he’d only laid a hand on her once while drunk, she knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again. 

That was to say nothing of the kind of fear she felt every time they went to bed together. 

Charles had realized early in their marriage the disdain she had for being intimate with him, but it had never stopped him before. Mostly, when it happened, he would tell her to lay down on the bed and she would just close her eyes and wait for it to be over. It never took him long to finish, which she supposed she was grateful for. 

A small consolation came after learning that Catra would likely never be pregnant. The frequency of _those_ nights had lessened ( _no point anymore,_ he said), he’d found other women to fuck, and she felt as though she could breathe again. 

But Catra had never seen him like this. A week or so prior, on a night he’d been drinking heavily, he had given her a hard stare and made a comment about her helping relieve his stress later that night. Terror flooded her body so rapidly when the meaning of his words sunk in that she almost dropped the glass in her hands.

He’d passed out drunk and forgotten about the whole incident. 

She hadn’t.

Every day, Catra grew more and more wary of him. She didn’t want to feel like prey in her own home, in the place she worked and loved and kept afloat. Yet she found herself hiding away from him, trying to dodge out of reach of the shadow at the corner of her eye.

She pushed those thoughts from her mind. At least for now, she was alone. Catra slid the notebook lightly into her pocket, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as she walked up the stairs. When she got to the top of the stairs, it almost seemed as though it was longer than usual, like the path was extending before her. 

Catra took a deep breath and walked to the room at the end of the hall.

It was still unoccupied (she’d decided to stop listing it as a room to make sure of that), and she strode quickly over to the candle, striking a match and lighting it. A fire leapt up on the wick. She watched it flicker for a moment before setting it gently on the windowsill.

Realistically, Catra knew nothing was going to happen. It was a simple, routine motion. Still, something about what it represented meant her heart leapt when she put it down, and she was almost underwhelmed when nothing changed in the room. 

Voices sounded from beneath her, and Catra sighed. With one final look, she closed the door and made her way downstairs again. 

According to the watch in her pocket and the gradual change in sunlight, a few hours passed by before the first groups of off-duty Redcoats filled her tavern. She nodded to Scorpia, who went into the kitchen to tell the cooks to get ready, and started setting mugs on the counter in preparation. 

By the time a figure in a tricorn hat leaned over the bar to talk to her, Catra was thoroughly focused on getting six pints over to one of the far tables. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. “Be with you in a moment,” She said offhandedly, filling the last of the pints. 

“Not a problem,” came a very, _very_ familiar voice, and she turned with a prick of fear and confusion to see Adora leaning against the bar in the brown civilians’ coat Catra had seen a few nights prior. “Can we seat ourselves, Mrs. Monroe?”

Her eyes flicked over to see Bow and Glimmer near the doorway, looking at tables. _So it’s Adam for now, then_ , she thought distantly, tamping down the anxiety she felt building at the sight of them. If anyone saw and recognized them here, it could mean blood spilled. 

Catra looked back at where Adam’s eyebrows were still raised in question and leaned in a little closer. “What are you doing here?” She hissed, trying to control her heart rate. “Adam, if anyone sees you—”

“Let them,” He said with a smile. “We’re only here for the soldiers, ma’am. My only goal is to sow a few seeds of discontent among them.” He hesitated, and leaned forward a little. “If anything happens, you won’t be brought into it. I promise.” Adam’s voice was soft, clearly in an attempt to reassure her, and his hand twitched on the bar as if he wanted to set it gently on her wrist. 

She stared at his long, slender fingers, keeping her face carefully neutral in the case of any outside observers. “Does it have to be in mybar?”

“Where else can we find forty-odd British soldiers at half past three?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

Unfortunately, that was a good point. The _Cradle_ was the epicenter of the soldiers’ nightlife. But Catra had a bad, sinkingfeeling about the situation, and the thought of Adam— of _any_ of them getting hurt made her feel sick. “Don’t do anything stupid,” She said after a beat, pushing three mugs of ale towards him. Her voice was tight, noticeably so, and she couldn’t help the fear in her eyes.

“And ruin your floorboards?” He asked with the hint of a grin. “Never.”

The casual reminder of their first interaction was clearly meant to put her at ease, and succeeded, if only by a fraction. With one last nod and a quick thank-you, Adam walked back over to the table where Bow and Glimmer sat. 

_It could be worse_ , Catra thought, attempting not to stare too obviously at them. _Charles could be home._

Looking back on it, she didn’t think it wasn’t fair that fate chose that moment. The door swung open suddenly, thudding against the wall due to a sudden, chilling gust of wind. 

Moments later, her husband stepped through the door, hugging his coat around him. He was accompanied by another officer, one Catra didn’t recognize. 

When his eyes landed on where the three of them sat, Catra felt her blood run cold. He murmured something to the officer next to him before moving leisurely over to the bar, eyes locked on a drawer where Catra knew one of his old flintlock pistols sat. 

Her hands, which had been twisting nervously up until this point, froze.

The officer approached the table where Adam, Bow, and Glimmer sat before slamming a hand down on the table loudly. The rest of the bar quieted for a second, and their attention turned to what was happening. “You lot shouldn’t be here,” The officer said with an ugly smirk. “This is a bar of the Crown. Rebel scum aren’t welcome.”

“This is a bar in _Boston_ , my friend. I know you’re new, but I think you’ll find it’s usually hard to separate the two,” Adam replied easily, giving him a winning smile. 

“So you admit you’re of the Rebellion.” The soldier shook his head with a low scoff. “I knew it. On your feet.”

Adam took a sip from his mug and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

“I _said_ ,” growled the officer, “On. Your. Feet. Let the rest of your pathetic Rebellion see what happens when you disobey the Crown.”

Behind her, Catra heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing quietly before Charles stepped in front of her in a clear attempt to block her view. She moved out slowly from behind him, unable to tear her eyes away. 

She saw Adam’s jaw tighten at the words, and she watched the hand on his lap twitch towards the pistol she knew was concealed within his coat, but instead he just sighed. “Fine. I’ll tell you what. Since this is your first time, I’ll go easy on you.”

The officer took the bait instantly, face twisting in anger. “ _You’ll_ go easy on—”

He was interrupted by a hard, fast punch to the nose that had him sprawling out on the floor almost instantly. It barely looked like Adam had moved, but there he was, with reddening knuckles and a focused look on his face. 

Half the bar was on their feet in an instant (as the other half was too drunk to know what was happening), and Catra saw four other soldiers start moving towards Adam. Beside him, Bow and Glimmer shot to their feet and drew the attention of two of them.

When the others got closer, Adam grabbed his mug off the table. He threw the ale in one’s face to distract him, leaving him spluttering, and slammed the mug itself across the other one’s cheek so hard it nearly broke under him. It clattered to the floor as Adam’s fist shot out again, connecting hard with the ale-covered soldier’s stomach before his elbow landed firmly on his back. 

Three more soldiers began to approach him, and Adam, who was breathing heavy from the adrenaline and exertion, groaned a little before he brought his fists up again. 

The sound of a pistol clicking stopped them all in their tracks. 

Adam turned with a wary look on his face to see Charles pointing his flintlock directly at him, and raised his hands slowly in surrender. “Hello again, Charles.”

“Lieutenant Fairchild.” He readjusted his grip on the handle. “I’ve heard a _lot_ about you recently.”

“Then you must’ve heard it’s _Captain_ Faircihld now,” Adam said lightly, eyes flicking over in warning to where Bow and Glimmer stood behind him. “I was promoted. Very exciting.” _Run_ , he mouthed to them, and after a moment’s hesitation, they started making their way slowly towards the door. 

Charles began to move slowly out from behind the bar, stepping closer and closer to where Adam’s hands were still in the air. “I don’t care. By order of the king, you’re not allowed to be here.” His voice was cold and measured in the way that Catra knew meant he was boiling with rage.

“Shame,” He said. “I didn’t realize he was coming to visit. I’d love to meet him, so you’ll have to let me know if he drops by—” Adam cut off with a quiet grunt as Charles put the barrel of the pistol under his chin and pressed it there. Out of reflex, his eyes flicked over and made eye contact with Catra where she stood behind the bar.

Catra felt her stomach drop with a sickening, cold feeling of dread. The mug slipped out of her hand, which she realized faintly was trembling.

Charles’ voice cut through the air harshly. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blow your brains out right here.”

Adam opened his mouth, but without a second thought, Catra pleaded, “Please, Charles. Don’t do this. He-He was just drinking, there’s no—”

“You would defend him?” Charles asked without looking at her. His voice was hard as steel. He dug the gun deeper into Adam’s chin, and he tried not to wince at the feeling, blinking rapidly as he tried not to look over at Catra again. “He’s a traitor. He should be put to death.”

From somewhere outside her body, Catra heard herself say, “It’s not your place to decide that, my love. Please,” She begged, stepping out from behind the bar to walk over to him. She put a hand on his arm. “Let it be.” Even though Catra knew with a sinking feeling that she would regret it later, she couldn’t afford to lose the first person she’d ever sought out for comfort.

“If I ever see you in here again,” Charles seethed, digging the barrel firmly into the underside of Adam’s jaw, “I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

From up close, Catra could see the restrained fear and something else that she recognized as acceptance in his eyes as he nodded awkwardly around the barrel at his jaw. Charles lowered the gun slowly. “Then leave,” He said, his voice a low, angry whisper. “Before I change my mind.”

As he swallowed thickly, Adam couldn’t help the look he shot to Catra. He met her terrified gaze with distant, almost glassy eyes. “I’m terribly sorry about all the mess, ma’am,” He said hoarsely. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Catra felt like her throat was closing up, and stared at a spot on the floor as she gave him a jerky nod. 

He adjusted the hat on his head before he turned and left without another word, and Catra could almost hear her own heart breaking as the door closed behind him. 

*** * ***

Adam thought he did a remarkable job of keeping it together while the gun was pressed up against his chin. 

He hadn’t hyperventilated, for one. He’d kept his breathing slow and steady, trying to stay focused on the situation. When the cold metal was ripped away from him and he lost the point of contact, it became much, much harder to do that as the adrenaline faded and all he felt was nauseous.

As soon as he was out of the tavern, Adam stood outside to catch his breath, trying to calm his rapid heart rate. 

He wasn’t afraid of dying. Years of living on the streets followed by years of being a soldier had beaten it out of him. 

What he _was_ afraid of were the seconds right before it happened. More than anything, Adam dreaded the moment he would realize that his life was about to end, because he didn’t know what he would do with the last few instants of his time alive.

This was officially the second of two near-death experiences he’d had — near-death meaning, in this case, moments of his life in which he’d confronted that reality and lived to tell about it — and to be honest, Adam felt like he was going to throw up.

The first was in one of his first battles as a British soldier. He’d been at the tail end of 16, and had clutched his musket like a lifeline when he heard his regiment would march out to deal with a militia up north that had been causing problems for the Crown. 

He had been pushed to the first of the two neat lines the regiment arranged themselves in, and when his commanding officer had given the order to aim, he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling as the militiamen in front of them prepared to do the same. 

But the British had hesitated a second too long. One of the militia on the other side fired almost by accident, and the only warning he got before nearly passing out was the sound of the gun firing ringing through the trees and the flash of the muzzle. Then, Adam had felt something lodge in his thigh. The pain had hit like a lightning bolt half a second later, and he’d collapsed with a scream to the ground. 

Adam had woken up two days later with a fever and a splitting pain in his leg. The doctor had told him it was a miracle he was still alive, especially considering how close the bullet had come to hitting his artery. _But you’re young_ , the doctor said, patting his shoulder gently. _You’ll heal up fast._

The worst part wasn’t the pain, or the slipping in and out of consciousness, or the way the fever and blood loss had almost claimed him.

The worst part was replaying the moment in his mind. 

First there came the noise, loud and surprising. Then he saw the puff of smoke and the flash of the gun’s muzzle in the early morning sunlight. 

There was the bullet, moving in slow motion towards him. He followed its path all the way into his leg and watched blood stain crimson against the white of his trousers. 

And then, finally, came the pain. Even now, almost five years later, he could feel like a phantom knife twisting in his wound.

So this was the second of those experiences, and it was somehow worse. 

Adam couldn’t stop replaying the way Catra’s face had fallen and shattered when she’d watched the gun come out. He could still feel the cool metal pressing against his chin, digging it in until he was sure there’d be a circular imprint there for the foreseeable future. 

He remembered how she’d put her hands over her mouth in horror when he’d met her eyes for what he thought would be the last time, and the twist of her face in anger and pain and grief as she ran to Charles’ side just as his hand tightened and prepared to pull the trigger.

Adam felt suddenly sick, and only barely managed to repress the urge to vomit.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to focus on the sea air and the chill of the wind, and dipped into the alley next to it where he saw Bow and Glimmer waiting anxiously. 

“There you are,” Glimmer said, voice flooded with relief. She ran over to check for any wounds he had, and saw the red indent on the underside of his jaw. “The barrel of the gun,” She murmured sadly, tilting his chin up to get a better look. “Adam, what happened in there?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Adam heard a hollow, vacant voice come out of his lips that didn’t feel like his own. “Catra, she— she saved me. He would’ve killed me if she didn’t intervene.” He felt tears prick at his eyes, and tried to blink them away before the others saw. “She’s not safe there, we need—”

Bow put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’re going to check on her. It’ll be alright, Adam. We’ll send someone in to make sure she’s okay.”

“You didn’t see her,” Adam croaked. “She looked so _scared_ , I—”

“Easy,” Glimmer said gently, taking his trembling hands in her own. “You almost died in front of her, Adam. Of _course_ she was scared.”

“That’s not it.” He shook his head firmly, missing the glance Bow and Glimmer shared. “Charles, she— she isn’t safe with him.”

Glimmer led him over to a crate and helped him sit. “Catra’s strong. In this case, she’s probably stronger than all of us combined.” She put a hand on his shoulder, followed soon after by Bow. “She’ll get through it, Adam.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” He said, wiping down his face with one of his hands. “I need to get a letter to her, I-I have to do _something_ —”

“You will,” Bow said firmly. “ _We_ will.” 

Adam nodded, and realized where they were standing. Above him, the now-cracked branch still stretched, and he saw the window open above him. He moved back until he could see the candle in it.

It was out, he realized. A gust of wind must have taken away the flame.

“Remember the information she gave us?” Adam said, looking down. “The correspondence about the munitions bases in the countryside? They’re local, right?”

Bow nodded. “They are.”

“Tell the silversmith,” He said. “Have him notify the others in the area. We’ll need to start preparing now. I’m going to start taking a regiment to patrol the forest near our old encampment to make sure nothing changes.”

“Are you sure this is—”

“Until I know for certain she’s alright, I need something to take my mind off of what just happened.” Adam exhaled sharply. “I can’t go back in there, and we’ll probably have a price on our heads by nightfall. It’s not safe for us here.”

He pushed down the guilt, the fear, and the rage he felt bubbling up inside him and strode off into the streets, willing the universe to let him get lost in them just once.

*** * ***

The first thing that Charles had asked her when Adora left was, “Why?”

Catra hadn’t known what more to say other than, “I couldn’t watch it happen.”

He took it to mean that she — as a delicate, fragile woman — couldn’t bear to see someone killed, and she leaned into that interpretation rather than the truth. In this case, she wasn’t even sure exactly what the truth entailed, but she knew in her heart that she couldn’t let Adora die. She _definitely_ couldn’t watch. 

It had been years since Catra had willingly gone to another person’s arms for comfort. 

In fact, the last time she could remember doing it was the night before she was married. She’d sobbed in her mother’s arms for hours because of how deeply afraid and unhappy she was. Her mother hadn’t wanted the marriage, not really. Catra was barely 16. _She’s too young_ , she’d insisted, but Catra’s father was adamant. 

He’d found Charles, who had just returned from a brief stint arming soldiers in Virginia, and set the two of them up instantly. She’d never liked him. Not even in the beginning, when he’d tried to win her heart with half-wilted flowers and empty promises. 

(She’d left tear stains down the back of the dress her mother wore that night. _Please_ , she remembered begging, _Don’t let him do this to me_.

Even now, Catra didn’t know if she meant her father or her husband, and part of her wondered if the distinction made a difference. 

Regardless of who bore the blame — her father, for disposing of her so quickly; or her husband, for collecting her like some trinket only to discard her when he lost interest — the deed was done. Somewhere along the line, she had become a commodity.)

In the days that followed, Catra was extra wary of Charles’ behavior. The scene with Adam did nothing to improve his mood, and she had considered finding another place to stay that night. 

More than anything, she worried.

She worried for Adora, of course.. She’d run out the door after giving Catra a thinly-veiled (if at all veiled) plea for forgiveness, and Catra hadn’t heard from her since. She knew from the steadily-increasing numbers of soldiers drinking and yelling every night that the Crown was trying to tighten its grip on Boston, but that put Adora directly at risk. 

She worried for Charles— not _for_ him, so much, but she worried… around him. That one tied into her own well-being, she supposed, but there was more to it. She spent hours lying awake wondering what he would do if he ever saw Adora again, because the image of him holding a gun to her head was something Catra had replayed more than she cared to admit. 

And most of all, Catra worried for herself. She found herself more and more concerned for her own safety. Walking through the hallways with her heart racing in her chest, she wondered if she would ever truly feel comfortable within the walls of her inn again. The wooden siding she’d grown up in didn’t give her the same warmth it once did. 

Now, all she felt was cold.

Charles, thankfully, hadn’t touched her since the day Adora nearly died in front of her, and even that night she’d been able to avoid sleeping in his bed altogether. He’d stormed out soon after Adora left, and hadn’t returned until the next morning with bruises up and down his neck that she knew better than to comment on. 

Catra had spent the rest of that day in the back room, trying to control her breathing and not think about it too hard. 

(It didn’t work very well.)

Adora hadn’t come back since, and she hadn’t been able to light the candle just in case she was watching. Charles was constantly around her, and was more on edge than ever given recent events.

He’d been less and less happy as the days went on, still deeply frustrated with the way the Rebellion seemed to keep outsmarting the Crown, so when he walked through the door with a broad, cruel smile on his face, Catra knew something was wrong.

“Darling,” She said in greeting, plastering on a fake smile. “You’re home early.”

“Have Scorpia bring out the good ale from the cellar,” He said, throwing his coat behind the bar. “We’re celebrating.”

Catra breathed in slowly through her nose, trying to calm her heartbeat. “What’s the occasion?”

“There was a group, a rebel patrol in the woods.” Charles paused, putting a hand over hers. She resisted the compulsion to jerk it away. “Our soldiers ambushed them. Barely any survived,” He said gleefully. 

She tried to quell the nausea building up inside her. “That’s— that’s wonderful, darling—”

“It is,” Charles agreed. “But I haven’t told you the best part.” He leaned in from behind her until she could feel his breath hot against the shell of her ear. “Do you know who was leading it?”

“Who?” Catra’s voice came out with a tremor that she prayed he didn’t catch. 

“Adam Fairchild.” The words sounded hollow in her ears, and she felt her blood turn to ice as it drained from her face. “It’s about time that damned traitor got what he deserved.”

Catra felt her heart pounding in her chest, and it was all she could do not to collapse from the overwhelming sense of loss she felt. “Is he—did he—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish, but Charles was too busy pouring himself a celebratory cup of ale to notice.

“I don’t know,” Charles shrugged. “And I don’t particularly care. I talked to the man who shot him, though. The bullet caught him in the abdomen. Not many people survive that kind of wound.” He sighed in contentment, reaching over to stroke her hair gently. “If he isn’t dead, I imagine he will be soon.”

The mug in Catra’s hands clattered to the bar.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asked, brow furrowing in almost saccharine concern. “You look rather pale.”

“Yes,” She said hoarsely, looking over to the door. “I-I’m sorry, I just remembered I have an errand to run.”

“Don’t do it now.” Charles gave her a cruel, twisting smile. “Let’s celebrate first,” He said, picking up the mug she had dropped and filling it a little. He placed it in her hands once more. “To the long, slow death of a traitor. And, for that matter, of the Rebellion.”

Charles held his own mug up in an invitation.

The idea made her feel sick to her stomach, but she gave him a tight smile. With a sinking, almost aching feeling of grief and dread, Catra knew she had to do it. 

Trembling hands raised her mug in the air. She touched them together gently before she downed the whole thing in one gulp.

“To the traitor,” She murmured. “And to the Rebellion.”


	3. it's a long way to tipperary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra runs through the woods. Adam stumbles through the woods. Charles leaves.
> 
> Tears are shed, and words are spoken softly in the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody! 
> 
> quick note: chapter 3 sees the addition of a few extra tags (namely Porn With Feelings and Porn With Plot, which should tell you everything you need to know), and more than anything it serves as a brief intermission before the rest of the story unfolds. i feel like it should be obvious by now, but this chapter is decidedly nsfw towards the end, so if that's not your bag, feel free to zoom past it! love you guys and enjoy!

It had been years since Catra prayed, and yet here she was begging for salvation, forgiveness, and anything that would let her save Adora. She couldn’t get her husband’s words out of her head, nor could she banish the thoughts of blood on the forest floor and glassy, lifeless blue eyes.

Her skirts whipped around her as she ran heedless through the streets, narrowly missing merchants and townspeople as she did. 

Catra was barely aware of the place she was running towards, but the note Adora had given her earlier told her it was in a clearing deep in the forest. She got to the edge of Boston quickly, ignoring the biting cold of the air, and began to cast her eyes wildly around.

She scanned the area before finding the road Adora had mentioned— it was a path, really, given how unkempt and thin it was as it wound through yellowing grasses that reached her waist. She set off along it, tripping now and then over the roots and sticks gnarling in front of her, until she reached the forest.

When Catra made it to the edge of the encampment minutes later, she saw stretchers carrying bleeding men from tent to tent. She scanned every one for blonde hair and blue eyes, but Adora was nowhere to be seen. Desperate, she looked out over the rows of tents and bedrolls until—

 _There_ , she thought, seeing two shapes she recognized as Bow and Glimmer pacing outside of one of the larger tents. She gathered her skirts and ran, uncaring of the dirt on her boots or the smell of blood in the air. 

As soon as Glimmer saw her, her eyes widened in shock. “Mrs. Monroe, you’re—”

“Catra,” She said, almost pleading. She swallowed past the fear lodged in her throat. “When I’m here, it’s Catra. Please.”

“Of course,” Glimmer said quietly, scanning her face with a worried expression. “I take it you heard what happened—”

“Please, just— tell me. Adam, is he—” She couldn’t bear to say the words. Catra felt her throat closing up, and blinked away tears. “Is he—”

“No,” Bow said firmly, reaching to put a hand on her shoulder before hesitating. It fell back down to his side. “No, he—he’s in surgery right now with Micah.”

Catra let out a shuddering sigh, and her legs nearly buckled from sheer relief. “What happened?” She croaked. 

Glimmer led her gently to a bench and sat her down. “He… was leading a patrol,” She started hesitantly, looking to Bow for support. He squeezed her hand. There were tears welling up in her eyes, too, and Catra realized that the two of them were as worried as she was. “The British found out, apparently, and they set a trap—” Her voice broke on the last word.

Bow took over, wrapping an arm around her. “He barely made it out,” Bow said hoarsely. “And the bullet, it—” He shook his head as his voice gained a watery edge to it. “It lodged in his abdomen, a few inches below his ribs. He had to stagger back to camp on his own. If he had fallen, or—or made a wrong turn...” Bow looked away, and Catra watched him wipe away a few stray tears.

She hadn’t been able to focus on anything other than _the bullet_ and _lodged in his abdomen_ , though the idea of Adam dying alone in the woods was somehow worse. She pushed that thought away as fast as she could. “But—but Micah,” Catra said, nearly pleading, “He—he’ll be able to save him, won’t he?” She asked, eyes wild. “You said he was the best surgeon around, surely he can—”

“We don’t know,” Glimmer admitted quietly. Bow rubbed her back gently, and she smiled up at him, though it had a sad edge to it. “I-I helped him, at the beginning, but there were so many other wounded, I—” She shook her head. “I couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t let me.”

Catra nodded dimly. “You did what you had to,” She said. The words rang hollow and bitter, and brought back memories she would have rather left untouched. She pushed away thoughts of too-thick hands grasping at her dress and candleless, empty nights. “Don’t apologize for that.”

Glimmer nodded. “Catra, I—” She paused, hesitating with a hand hovering in the air. After a moment’s consideration, she put it gently on Catra’s arm. “We can’t lose him, either.”

Catra nodded tightly, unable to look her in the eyes. “What do we do?” She asked hoarsely. “While we wait?” There were words left unsaid, words of grief and fear and a desperate need to avoid them. None of them could do anything but wait for Micah to return.

Glimmer seemed to understand, and thought for a moment. “The notebook,” She murmured. “Have you been able to fill it any more since we saw you last?”

Grateful for the distraction, Catra nodded. “A little. It’s mostly about some new military commission for a local agent. I-I think they call him M,” She said, rubbing the crease in her forehead. 

“Then we’ll go to the strategy tent,” Glimmer said. Her voice sounded stronger than it had a moment prior. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Catra stared firmly at the ground in front of her. The dirt was tightly packed from the amount of people who had walked over it, but she could see a flower pressed into it as though it was preserved. “Go without me,” She said quietly. “I-I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Are you sure?” Bow asked. His eyes flicked over to Glimmer’s, and the two of them exchanged a worried expression. “We’re happy to stay with you.”

She stared at the flower. Its petals were white, fanning out like a halo around the stem. “You don’t have to do that,” Catra said quietly. “I’m fine, I can—”

“Catra, if you’re staying, we’re staying.” Glimmer’s voice was firm.

“You don’t even know me,” Catra found herself saying. “Why would you do that?” Her voice had more harshness to it than intended, and she cringed internally. Truthfully, she didn’t want to push them away, but years of ingrained fear and wariness meant her first instinct was to shut herself off rather than allow them the chance to hurt her.

“Of course we know you.” At Catra’s confused expression, Glimmer shrugged. “Adam talks about you. Probably more than he should, honestly,” She said, watching Catra try to hide a half-smile even in the midst of her grief. “It’s clear how much he cares about you. And…” Glimmer trailed off, looking at the hollow expression on Catra’s face. “Forgive me if this crosses a line, but you... seem like you could use some more kindness in your life.” It was punctuated with a soft smile. 

Catra was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. Her voice was hoarse. “Thank you,” She said, barely above a whisper.

Glimmer smiled. “Don’t mention it,” She said softly, putting a warm hand over Catra’s where it rested on the bench. “Adam’s been through worse than this. He’s going to be alright, Catra.”

“I hope so,” Catra replied quietly, feeling her voice shake. She could feel the burn in her throat at the words. 

Bow sat down on her other side a few seconds later, and though Glimmer was now gently rubbing her back, he didn’t offer to touch her. 

Part of her was grateful for it. Men tended to make her uncomfortable as a whole given her history with Charles, and even though Bow seemed genuine and kind and nothing at all like her husband, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. 

But Bow seemed to understand. He offered her a soft, reassuring smile. “Did he ever tell you the story of how we all met?” He asked, clearly trying to draw her attention away. 

“Um,” Catra sniffled, wiping away a few stray tears that had escaped with the back of her hand, “No, not really. All he mentioned was that he defected after you found him.”

“So he left out the wolves?” Bow asked, and the twinkle in his eye as he looked over to Glimmer was enough to have her eyes narrowing a little.

Catra raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, _wolves_?”

Bow and Glimmer, as it turned out, were _excellent_ at distracting her. Most of the time, anyway. They were so animated when they told the story that Catra found herself leaning into it, and her tears dried on her face. They even managed to get her to laugh.

By the time the tent flaps swished open and a tall, blood-stained man with long black hair tied back in a neat bun walked out, Catra had just been able to focus on something other than the reason she was there in the first place. He looked almost exactly like Glimmer, although his hair was a darker shade, and he had a stern expression on his face that seemed to melt away when he saw them.

“You must be Mrs. Fairchild,” He said with a deep, pleasant voice. “I’m Micah.” He offered a hand, and she shook it. “I’m sorry our first meeting had to be under these circumstances.”

Catra stood on shaking legs and swallowed hard. “Micah, please. Is— Is he—”

“He’s resting,” Micah said gently, and Catra felt tears rush back to her face. This time, they were out of relief.

“I have no idea how he managed it, but the bullet didn’t hit any major internal organs or arteries. I think it was stopped by a piece of shrapnel from an earlier injury.” He gave her a soft smile. “I removed it easily enough, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and he’ll need time to recover—”

“I need to see him.” Catra’s voice was quiet but firm, and held more than a touch of desperation. She wiped away stray tears with the heel of her hand. “Please,” She added hoarsely. 

Micah looked warily behind her to Bow and Glimmer before he met her eyes again. “Be gentle with him,” He said carefully. “I’d prefer you didn’t upset the bandages.” There was an odd note of depth to his words. Catra frowned when she heard it, and he kept eye contact with her even as she moved to walk inside.

As soon as she stepped in, letting the tent flaps close behind her, Catra put her hands over her mouth.

She’d never seen Adora look so pale. Normally — even now, as they neared winter — her skin had a healthy golden glow to it.

The person she saw in front of her more resembled a corpse. There were red cuts and sickly yellow bruises all across her body, and coupled with the waxy look of her skin Catra almost wouldn’t have known she was alive if not for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. 

Adora was asleep, she realized. 

Peacefully, from the looks of it. Her brow was smoothed, her eyes were gently closed, and even the long, angry red line down the side of her face — one that was, judging by the black lines through it, very recently stitched up — seemed undisturbed. 

It was the first time Catra had ever seen her at peace, and even that was ruined by the gentle rustling of her body readjusting under the sheets. _Even in her sleep, she has trouble relaxing_ , she thought. It brought a small smile to her face. 

Part of her knew she shouldn’t wake her, but the larger, desperate part couldn’t bear not to hear her voice. Catra sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, putting a gentle hand on the non-injured side of Adora’s face. 

She leaned into the touch a little even as her brow furrowed again, and her eyes blinked slowly open to reveal the beautiful, silvery blue that Catra had come to cherish. “Catra?” Adora asked, voice hoarse. “You— how did you get here?”

“I ran,” Catra said wetly, feeling tears prick at her eyes again. “I-I thought I lost you, I—”

“You didn’t,” Adora murmured, leaning into her hand more and pressing a gentle kiss to the palm. “I’m right here. I’m not—” She winced, trying to sit up before remembering the recent bullet wound she’d sustained. Catra was on her feet in an instant, and gently helped her back down onto the pillows. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Adora said firmly, meeting Catra’s eyes.

“You promise?” Catra’s voice cracked on the word, and it came out as a whisper. 

Adora nodded gently, reaching a hand up to brush a piece of hair away from her face. “I promise.” She tried to smile, but the movement pulled at her stitches, and she let out a soft noise of pain. Catra’s eyes were drawn again to the thick, angry line. “A knife,” Adora explained quietly. “I dodged most of it.”

It was a weak attempt at a joke, but it drew a watery laugh out of Catra all the same. “You’ll need to get better at that,” She said quietly, reaching a hand up to trace along it lightly. She was careful not to hurt Adora, and pulled her hand away after a few seconds. 

Adora looked at her for a long moment, and noted the tremor to her hands. “I’m sorry I scared you.” Her voice was quiet. “I— It was never supposed to happen the way it did. The British, they—”

“Ambushed you.” Catra’s hands twisted in her lap, itching to touch her again. “I know.”

“Catra—” Adora started to say something, but faltered. She swallowed hard, and it looked painful. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Catra realized dimly how dry they looked as she tracked the movement with her eyes. “Could I— s-some water, please—”

Her gaze landed on a pitcher of water by her bedside. Catra poured her a small cup and put it to her lips, tilting her head up to pour it in gently.

Adora accepted it gratefully, and Catra set the cup on the table. She watched Adora’s eyes linger on it before falling to the ground. “I—I’m sorry about what happened at the tavern,” Adora croaked. “I was so worried for you after I left—”

“You were worried for me?” Catra asked with a hint of incredulity. “I almost watched Charles—” The words died in her throat. She shook her head. “I didn’t think he would be home so early. It would have been my fault if he had— if he—”

“No,” Adora insisted. “No. It wouldn’t have been. You’re the reason I’m alive, Catra.” She paused, and brought a tired hand up to rest on her cheek. “You saved me.”

Catra’s eyes closed, and she leaned into her touch. 

“I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to ask of you,” Adora said quietly. There was a hint of anxiety to her voice that Catra wasn’t used to hearing. “I-I know you’re married, and I’m well aware of my… situation,” She said, gesturing to her chest. Catra saw the edges of recently-wrapped bandages peeking out from the blankets. “But…” 

“Spit it out, Ad— Captain,” Catra interrupted, remembering the people just outside. Her heart rate was picking up. 

Adora took a breath. “Catra, if I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?”

Catra blinked, breath hitching. “That depends,” She said, voice a little shaky. “Are you asking me?”

“Yes,” She said hoarsely, eyes flicking down to Catra’s now-parted lips. “I am.”

Catra didn’t wait a second longer. 

Putting her face on Adora’s cheek, she leaned down hesitantly to brush their lips together in a soft kiss. 

The first one was chaste, as most of the ones in Catra’s life had been. But even now, cracked and dry, Adora’s lips were softer than Charles’, and as she pulled away she found herself wanting to do it again.

Adora slid a hand through her hair to pull her closer once more, waiting for Catra to lean in to meet her, and all of Catra’s emotions seemed to come flooding out as their lips met again.

Desperation mingled with fear and grief as it coursed through her, and Catra returned the kiss with a fervor that surprised them both. 

She wound a hand tightly in Adora’s hair, as if she was worried she would disappear from in front of her. 

Catra gasped against Adora’s mouth as her tongue parted Catra’s lips, licking gently into her mouth, and for the first time in her life, all she wanted was to be closer. 

For so long now, being intimate had been a chore. An enemy, even. Catra’s definition of it was something that men did when they wanted to. 

In other words, it was something that women endured. It was messy, it was uncomfortable, and it was usually over the second her husband spilled his load.

But _this_? 

Her body was on fire. Never in her life had Catra imagined something could feel this way. 

Maybe it was the feeling of things finally clicking into place, or maybe it was the huge, powerful mix of emotions swirling around inside her, but she felt herself begin to cry. 

Adora pulled away the second she felt tears against her face, and looked at Catra with such concern she felt her heart ache. “You’re crying,” She said softly, wiping a tear from her face. “Is everything… okay? I-I’m sorry, Catra. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” Catra said. Her voice was watery. “Please, I-I just— that was the first time I’ve ever—” She cut herself off, shaking her head a little. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?”

Adora searched her face. “That depends,” She murmured. “What did it feel like?” Adora brought the hand on her cheek to brush away a piece of hair. Catra could see bruises on her knuckles and a few small cuts and scars littered across her arm. 

“It felt right.” The words were quiet, as if she had admitted to some great sin. Her voice was still barely there, but she leaned into Adora’s touch, closing her eyes. “It—It felt good. It was like I could finally enjoy it. I-I... wanted more,” She admitted. “I wantmore.”

Adora looked at her for a moment with hope shining brightly in her eyes. She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile before asking, in that same roughened voice, “Will you mind if—if we do it again?”

The words were soft, and Catra knew her answer immediately. “I think I’d mind more if we didn’t, Captain.”

Just as Adora leaned in to kiss her again, the tent flaps swished open beside them, and Adora pulled the blanket up around her chest quickly. 

Bow and Glimmer poked their heads in. “Adam, are you— oh,” Glimmer said, eyebrows raising as she saw the position the two of them were in. “Are we interrupting something?”

A slight sense of panic rose in Catra’s chest as she moved to reassure them, but then a voice came from next to her. “As a matter of fact, yes,” Adora said. “Can I talk with you two later?”

“Of course,” Glimmer said, face lighting up in barely-restrained glee. “We’ll be back.”

The flaps swished shut again, and Adora dropped the blankets. “I’m never going to hear the end of it from them,” She said, the hint of a smile on her face. A yawn overtook her suddenly, followed instantly by a hard wince of pain.

Catra felt her heart twinge watching it. “I should go,” She said. “I-I know you need to rest.”

“According to Micah, I do,” Adora said, rolling her eyes. “I think he’s overreacting. I’m fine.”

“You were shot four hours ago.”

“And he gave me something for the pain, and now I feel fine,” Adora said with a hint of a strain in her voice. “Just— will you stay a little longer? Please?”

In that moment, Catra had never wanted anything more, but she thought of her husband and the inn. “I-I can’t,” She said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been gone too long already.”

Years of forced caution and mindless, instant apologies gave Catra a momentary flash of fear that Adora would get angry at her for it, but all she did was nod and smile. “Right. Of course. Another time, then. Can I—” She faltered, as if unsure of how to ask for what she wanted. “Can I kiss you before you leave?”

Catra answered by pulling her close one last time, letting herself sigh into the kiss as blunt nails scratched lightly against the back of her head. When they pulled apart, Catra rested her forehead against Adora’s. “I’ll light a candle when I can,” She said quietly. “Will you come by?”

“Nothing could keep me away,” Adora replied, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Go,” She said, hiding a smile. 

Catra took one last look at her on the bed before she let the tent flaps fall shut behind her, and began the long, slow walk back to the inn. Her thoughts, once jumbled in her head, seemed to fall in line as she walked, and she found herself looking at the world around her as if for the first time. 

*** * ***

It took Adam more time than he would have liked to heal.

Micah wouldn’t let him get out of bed for three days, and by the end of it he was almost vibrating with pent-up energy. Bow and Glimmer kept him company, of course, but with his tolerance for pain and the solutions Micah had given him, Adam insisted over and over that he was _fine_ , and that this amount of care wasn’t necessary.

The first time he stood up, he nearly passed out. 

Micah and Glimmer had helped him back to his feet, sharing a knowing look as they distributed his weight evenly between them. Glimmer had been the first to raise an eyebrow and say, “What happened to being fine?”

“Glimmer,” Micah had chided, helping him sit back down. “We’re on duty.” He turned to Adam. “What happened to being fine, _Captain_?”

It had taken a week or so until he was able to stand and walk around without crippling pain coursing through his body, and he’d had some trouble keeping down most of the food Micah brought him, so he lost more than a bit of weight in the intervening days. 

Also, the wound _hurt_. Adam supposed he should have expected that, but there was nothing that could have prepared him for how persistent it was. Every time he shifted his body, took a breath, or even straightened his back, it ached. 

More than a simple shock of pain, though, it was a reminder of his failure, and, well… 

...Suffice it to say Adam wasn’t sleeping as much as he should have been.

In his defense, it was hard when every time he closed his eyes, he saw his men bloody, terrified, and dead under his command. Bow and Glimmer insisted they didn’t blame him, that he couldn’t have known. He wasn’t sure he believed that. 

For one, the forest hadn’t felt right that day. 

Adam had grown up in and around it, and he knew the way warnings appeared among the trees. He’d seen them — broken sticks, fresh marks carved into the bark of the trunks, leaves and branches pulled up where they shouldn’t be — and had ignored them, because his thoughts were more important than his safety, apparently.

The man who shot him had been wearing a red coat stained redder with blood, and Adam had been in the process of tackling him before he could run his bayonet through Kyle’s back. He’d stabbed a hunting knife into the other soldier’s gut, but hadn’t noticed the gun until it was pressed against him. 

He’d leapt back and pushed the soldier away from him, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.

The shot fired, the British claimed their victory, and Adam staggered back to the camp as one of the lone survivors hours later.

The only reason Bow had noticed him was because he’d happened to be walking with one of the soldiers around the perimeter. Bow’s eyes had widened the minute he saw him. “Adam,” He’d said. “God, what happened—”

“Ambush,” He croaked, taking a staggering step forward. His hand was pressed tightly to the wound, and as his coat fell open a little, Bow’s eyes dropped to the red dripping down his abdomen. The last thing Adam remembered before collapsing against him was a panicked, cracking yell for Glimmer. 

He’d woken up under Micah’s knife and almost screamed at the pain, but Micah had tipped some painkillers down his throat, and he was out almost instantly. The next time Adam woke up, his head throbbed a little, and Micah was staring at something on his chest. 

“Wh—” Adam looked down to see the bandages normally around his chest missing. “...Oh.”

“You’re—” Micah shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand. “It doesn’t matter. Once I finish wrapping your wound, I’m going to redo these so your ribs don’t end up damaged.”

Adam blinked. “Micah, please, you can’t—”

“I know, Captain,” Micah had said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Your secret is safe here, and you’ve more than proven yourself as a commanding officer. No one will know.” He’d been on the verge of falling asleep again by the time they finished up, and Micah had given him a small smile. “Try and rest, Adam.”

But then Catra had come in a few minutes later, so rest was off the table. 

It was odd, he thought, to feel such powerful forms of joy and grief inside him. 

The moment he delved too deeply into one, the other made itself known. He would remember the way his second in command looked as a bayonet ran him through, pinning him to a tree as blood spurted from his mouth. Then he would think of how Catra’s wide eyes had nearly sparkled after their first kiss, and the way her lips had felt against his. 

Still, Adam found it easier to process what had happened with Catra than what had happened in the forest. That one would take time, he thought, and he figured he didn’t have much of it left.

It had been about two weeks since the day he was shot, and the walk to the inn left him sweating from the pain. Adam made it anyway, desperate to see Catra again.

He looked instantly to the window, and when he saw the candle’s flame flickering gently, a smile broke out on his face. The action pushed at the cut there, where a long, red line still trailed from his forehead down through an eyebrow before ending at his cheek. 

By now, it had mostly healed over, even though he knew nothing Micah did would erase the scar. 

But that didn’t matter right now. Right now, all Adam was focused on was seeing Catra again.

He pulled his hat low around his face before walking inside, eyes darting around to clock the soldiers in the back and the old man eating with a trembling hand in the corner. 

Catra was in the process of wiping down the bar, and she whipped around the second the door opened with a half-hopeful, half-hesitant expression that instantly morphed into a radiant smile when she saw him up and moving. 

She fought it, trying to wrangle her face into a neutral expression. “Your usual room is ready, Captain,” She said louder than necessary, jerking her head up the stairs. “Here, let me show you to it.”

Adam tamped down a grin and nodded, following her up. 

The second the door closed behind them, Catra let out a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“It took me a while to get… mobile,” He admitted, pulling off his hat and putting it on the desk. He reached a hand up to untie his hair, knowing Catra seemed to prefer when it was down. 

“Here,” She said. “Let me.” She pulled the ribbon out gently, watching Adora sigh as her hair tumbled down around her face. 

Adora felt most like herself when her hair was down. 

She wasn’t sure if Catra noticed it or just felt the same, but the ponytail helped her feel more in command, more in control, and was often her style of choice when presenting as Adam. 

With it down, she felt as though she could breathe. 

She smiled at Catra softly, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“Don’t be,” Catra said, leaning into the touch. “You’re here now.”

“And Charles…?” 

“Gone,” Catra said. “He’s on a trip to New York.” A grin spread slowly across her face as she wound her arms around Adora’s waist, pulling her closer. “He won’t be back for a fortnight at least,” She said, allowing giddiness to slip into her tone.

Adora’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t help herself from leaning in to kiss Catra soundly, tilting her head up gently to meet her lips. “Two weeks alone,” Adora murmured, resting their foreheads together. “I can’t wait.”

Catra hummed quietly against her, eyes falling shut. “I was able to copy the last of his documents before he left,” She said, pulling out a notebook. She slid it into Adora’s coat pocket. “Take it back to camp when you leave.”

The mention of leaving drew a sigh from Adora. “I will. I’m afraid I only have an hour or so until I have to make my rounds recruiting.”

“Then let’s make the most of it,” Catra said. “You’ll come back more, though?”

“As often as I can.” Catra’s hands moved to her abdomen, and Adora winced a little as her hands brushed the edge of her bandages. Standing was beginning to get uncomfortable, and the wound had been aching for the last thirty minutes. “Can we— I’m sorry, I-I’m still not fully healed,” She admitted quietly, looking at the bed before turning back to Catra. 

Catra’s expression changed from contentment to concern, and she leaned back to look her in the eye. “Do you want to lie down?”

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, and the thread of vulnerability was new to them both. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to take off a few layers first.” It was much warmer in the room than it was outside, and Adora was starting to sweat a little. She tried to shrug off her coat, but the action tugged at her wound, and she let out a soft grunt of pain.

Catra smiled at her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and helped her pull her coat the rest of the way off. It left her in a simple dark red waistcoat and a small scarf over a clean-looking white shirt. 

She cleared her throat. “Wearing red, Captain? I thought you defected,” Catra grinned, voice light and teasing as she helped unbutton it. She could feel the warmth of Adora’s skin beneath her hands, and the fabric was soft against her fingers. 

Adora shrugged it off gingerly, careful to avoid pulling her stitches open. “Micah told me it would hide any additional bleeding,” She said, untying her scarf and watching as the collar of her shirt fell open.

The reminder of her injury slowed Catra’s hands even as her eyes raked up and down Adora’s body. 

Other than their time at the encampment recently, she had always been fully clothed, either in uniform or plainclothes. The white shirt Adora was left in, tucked neatly into sturdy black pants, was probably the most dressed-down she’d ever been in front of Catra.

Speaking of the shirt, it showed off her physique so well it was almost unfair. The shirt was tailored to fit the breadth of her shoulders perfectly, and Catra watched with wide eyes as the fabric shifted around them, showing hints of hard muscle beneath the surface. 

Her shirt hung freshly open at the collar, revealing a few neat lines of bandages across her chest and smooth-looking skin with a few shining lines from old scars. Catra found her eyes drawn instantly to the strong, corded veins of her neck and the edges of her collarbone. The hollow of her throat was exposed, and she could see it move a little as Adora swallowed.

Adora pushed a hand through her hair awkwardly, clearly unused to the attention, and Catra had to swallow hard to get rid of the dryness in her mouth. 

“Sorry,” Catra said, feeling a blush creep onto her face. She shook her head a little, trying to refocus on Adora’s face. “Um. Just admiring the view.”

Adora let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Kind of you to say.” She scratched the back of her head, moving toward the bed before sitting down and pulling her boots off. “Are you… Do you want to join me?” She asked, and there again was the thread of halting vulnerability in her voice.

Catra blinked, eyes flicking to the bed and back with a sudden, ingrained burst of fear. “Um. To lie down? Or…?”

“You don’t— we don’t have to do anything,” Adora said hastily. “Not if it makes you uncomfortable to… be with me. Like that.” Catra’s eyes widened, and Adora started backpedaling. “You know what, f-forget I said anything—”

“How would it— I mean, you don’t have...” Catra trailed off, frowning a little, and leaned back as she tried to wrap her head around it. “Would it feel different?”

“What?”

“Sex,” She said plainly, watching Adora’s face redden at the bluntness of it. “Would it… be different than what it’s like with Charles?”

Adora’s eyebrows rose, and she rose from where she sat on the bed to cup Catra’s cheek gently. “From what I understand about your relationship, it would be unrecognizable,” She said. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.” Adora stroked her thumb across the line of her cheekbone. “But if you’re not ready, or you don’t want to, I understand.” She gave Catra a small smile. “It’s enough to have you here with me.”

Catra found herself suddenly blinking back tears. 

For such a long time, she had regarded acts of intimacy as something to be wary of, because whenever they were given it was either against her wishes or in exchange for something else. They were transactional. And sex, in many ways, was an extension of that transaction. 

She’d only ever been with Charles, and she’d never thought of it with anything other than derision and fear. He’d never put much effort into her pleasure, and she had never thought of it as worth asking about. 

She knew what he would say: he’d laugh in disbelief and tell her most women didn’t derive pleasure from it. If they did, she wasn’t one of them.

What Adora offered her seemed deeply, deeply different. 

Every time Catra pushed back against her, ready to retreat back into her shell, Adora apologized and adjusted her behavior accordingly. That level of consideration seemed basic when she looked at it from an outside perspective, but for her, it was a foreign feeling. 

That meant the idea of Adora wanting to be close to her for the simple reason of being close was almost unfathomable.

And yet as she searched her face, taking in the gentle smile and the softness of her eyes, Catra knew without a doubt that Adora meant it with her whole heart.

After a beat, she nodded against Adora’s hand. “Then… yes.” She wiped away a stray tear hastily. “Um. I would— I would like that,” Catra said, a watery edge seeping into her voice. 

“Just— you don’t have to do it to please me,” Adora said quietly. “Only do this if it’s what you want.”

Catra thought for a moment, looking at the thinly-veiled concern on Adora’s face. When she spoke again, her voice was resolute. “I want _you_.” She watched Adora’s eyes widen a little at the words, and laid her hand flat on her chest. 

“Show me how much better it can be,” Catra said softly, ignoring the blush that spread across her face at the words. “Please.”

Adora nodded before leaning down to press a slow, gentle kiss to her lips. Catra melted into it almost instantly, and felt better already. When they broke apart, Adora gave her a small smile. “If something doesn’t feel good, tell me, and I won’t do it again. Alright?”

Catra nodded, feeling anticipation start to build inside her. “Should I... lay down?”

“Not this time,” Adora said. At Catra’s confused expression, she pointed to where the wound was. “My strength isn’t what it was, so I wouldn’t be able to support myself. Not yet, at least. I was thinking I’d lie down, and you would be on top of me. Does that sound okay?”

Catra wasn’t sure _what_ it sounded, but the images her mind conjured up at the words were more than enough to have her blushing again. “So you’ve been thinking about this, Captain?” She asked, with a hint of breathlessness to her voice. “How forward.”

“Am I the only one?” Adora raised an eyebrow as her voice dropped to a lower register. She stepped forward again, leaning down to kiss Catra’s neck. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. “I see the way you look at me. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Catra swallowed thickly, feeling her heartbeat speed up as Adora began to suck gently at her skin. The sensation coupled with the edge to words, and sent a sudden spike of heat through her. Eyes still closed, she found herself replying, “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re starving,” Adora replied, punctuating it by sucking hard at her neck, “And I’m the first warm meal you’ve had in days.”

The analogy wasn’t… entirely wrong, but Catra felt a brief glow of embarrassment at having been caught. She cleared her throat, hoping her blush wasn’t visible. “Are you going to talk this much the whole time?” She was going for light and playful. Instead, the words came out low and a little rough. 

“Only if you want me to,” Adora said. A hand slid around her waist, keeping her in place. She felt the lips at her neck part for a moment, followed by a gentle nip at the skin there. Catra tried unsuccessfully to keep a gasp from slipping out. “But I have a few ideas for how you can shut me up.”

Adora leaned back to capture her lips one last time, and Catra whined as she pulled away. “Such as?”

With a wink, Adora lowered herself gingerly on the bed before leaning back a bit to look at Catra. “That depends,” She said with a smile. “Do you want my mouth first?”

“Fuck,” Catra said, almost out of reflex. “Is that an option?” She’d heard vague stories from a few of the women who worked with her, but nothing that sounded feasible for her given how little Charles seemed to care about her pleasure. 

“Absolutely,” Adora said. “Yes. And I don’t want to push you, but, um... it might work better if you take off your dress.”

Catra raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“I want to watch you.” Adora’s face was red, but she met Catra’s gaze without shying away. “Can’t do that through a skirt, can I?”

Catra let out a sharp exhale at the words. “No,” She said. “No, I suppose you can’t.” She turned around, where Adora could see the back of her dress done up neatly. “Help me out of it?” Catra asked quietly. 

Movement rustled behind her on the bed, and she felt nimble fingers brush lightly against her back as Adora started to slowly undo the fastenings. Charles had never had the patience to untie them all. Adora had more than enough, and gently brushed her hair out of the way, pressing a kiss to the now-exposed back of her neck.

The last string was untied, and Catra took a deep breath before letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it. A simple, sleeveless shift covered most of her body, ending near the thigh, and she turned to see Adora watching her almost hungrily where she sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes flicked up to meet Catra’s, and she saw how wide her pupils were blown. 

Her hands lingered on her back, and Adora pulled her a little closer, moving her hands down to rest on her waist. Catra had never realized just how _big_ they were, but they almost dwarfed her hips. She reached up, swallowing hard, and pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. “You’re staring,” She said quietly.

“Can you blame me?” Adora’s hands tightened against her, fingers pressing a little more insistently. “I— Catra, you—you’re sure about this, right?” Her eyes searched her face intently.

Catra wound a hand through Adora’s hair and scratched at her scalp with blunt nails. “Yes, Captain,” She said with a small smile. “I’ll tell you if there’s anything I don’t like.” Adora leaned back against her hand with a gentle noise in the back of her throat.

“Good,” Adora replied, voice low. She scooted back towards the headboard and laid flat before gesturing to Catra. “Come here,” She murmured. “On my face.”

The air left Catra’s lungs all at once. “Oh,” She breathed, suddenly realizing what was about to happen. With limbs that only trembled a little, she began to position herself over Adora’s waiting mouth, and paused. “I-I’ve never done this before. Are you sure you want to—”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Adora said, eyes flicking back and forth from her face to where the shift barely covered what lay between her legs. “I want to see you, Catra.” She gave her a reassuring smile and rested those massive hands on top of Catra’s thighs, stroking idly at them.

Fighting back a blush, Catra nodded, put her hands on the headboard, and lowered herself down hesitantly. Under her, she watched Adora take a moment to adjust before her hands ran up the back of Catra’s shift, settling again on her hips. Her skin felt like it would burst into flames at the slightest touch, and Adora made a small noise of satisfaction. 

“What?” Catra breathed, trying to tame her heartbeat. “Is— is everything okay?”

“More than okay,” Adora said. It was muffled slightly, but she could feel her breath hot against her and gasped a little at the feeling. “Catra, you—you’re fucking gorgeous.” With a wink, she turned her face and sucked hard at the soft skin of Catra’s inner thigh, feeling the muscles twitch under her mouth.

The compliment made her blush more than the hand tightening on her ass or the feeling against her thigh, and she was in the middle of responding when Adora’s tongue touched her for the first time.

Catra was fairly certain she’d just seen the face of God. 

She felt a high, breathy moan rip through her, and clapped a hand over her mouth a second later. Adora’s tongue ran up her slit again, this time stopping to flick her tongue against a spot that made Catra nearly go boneless. “Fuck,” She breathed. “What— what was that?”

Adora chuckled a little, turning to nip gently at her thigh, and said, “I told you it would be different.”

Catra wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but she could _definitely_ get used to it. She could practically _feel_ Adora watching her intently as she began a slow pace licking up against her, and through the haze of pleasure that began to cloud her, Catra could feel something else building, some low heat coiling in the pit of her stomach that was increasing with every movement of Adora’s face under her. 

Adora sped up the movements of her tongue as Catra settled into the feeling, and licked a line halfway up over her entrance before sucking her clit into her mouth and flicking it gently with her tongue. Above her, she heard Catra’s breath hitch before she exhaled with a sharp, loud whine. 

Catra’s hand tightened around the headboard for support, and the other found its way to Adora’s head and ran through her hair before reaching back to grab her hand tightly. 

Adora could see how much the action had affected her, and her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. Sliding her free hand down to Catra’s ass, she pulled her closer against her mouth and dove in again. 

The noises Catra made above her increased in pitch as she lost herself in the sensation, and the first time she felt her hips buck down against her face, Adora’s eyes widened a little. Catra felt the sudden stop in stimulation and looked down to see blue eyes looking directly at her. 

Making direct eye contact with her, Adora laid her tongue flat and guided Catra’s hips down once, twice, over and over again until they settled into a rhythm. Catra’s head began to tip back as the coiling heat inside her grew and grew until she found herself at the edge of some precipice. “F-Fuck,” She said, “Adora, I— fuck—” 

As if she could sense how close she was, Adora’s hands tightened around her ass and pulled her closer. Catra grinded shamelessly against her tongue, letting out whines and breathy gasps as she chased something she didn’t have the words for, until the tension building inside her broke suddenly and all she saw was white as she came. As she clenched around nothing in pulses, she was faintly aware of Adora licking almost eagerly against her, making sure not a single drop of fluid went to waste.

When Catra came down from the high her orgasm created for her, she felt Adora slowly fucking her through the aftershocks, and stimulation would have been overwhelming if it wasn’t for Adora’s hand in hers and the thumb running gently over her knuckles.

Her hand slackened on the headboard as she gasped for breath, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion, and she swung ungracefully off of Adora’s face. Catra’s head tilted back until it hit the wood behind her gently, and Adora pulled herself up with a small grunt of pain into an upright position. 

Catra turned to look at her, her heart still racing, and saw her own slick covering the lower half of Adora’s face and chin. “Oh, God, I-I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” Adora said with a grin. “Catra, that was amazing. I-I _loved_ doing that. God, the _noises_ you made—” She cut herself off, shaking her head with a small laugh. “You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?”

Catra blinked a few times, feeling a small, shy smile creep onto her face. “I’ve heard it once or twice,” She said quietly, watching warmth grow in Adora’s expression. “Um. But you were right, that—” She couldn’t help the chuckle. “That definitely felt different.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” After a moment, Adora laid down. “Come here,” She murmured. “Can I— Can I hold you?”

“You don’t want… reciprocation?” Catra asked, a small twinge of nervousness in her voice. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to. She just didn’t know where to start.

Adora shook her head. “Not today,” She said with a smile. “Watching you was enough for me.”

Catra was sure the warmth of the look she gave Adora could’ve melted an iceberg, but in the half-melted state she found herself in, she couldn’t find it within her to care. She moved closer to Adora, wrapping her arms around her and feeling a hand begin to stroke idly at her hair as a strong, solid arm wound around her waist.

Never in her life had she felt security and warmth like this. It was always hidden, always fought for, always able to be taken away after one wrong move. _Another transaction,_ she thought distantly.

But now (and, it seemed, forever), Adora gave it to her freely and without expectation. 

“Is this what love feels like?” Catra asked quietly, resting her head on Adora’s chest. “If it is, I never want it to end.”

Adora smiled softly at her before leaning down to capture her lips again. “Then it never will,” She murmured. “Not for us.”

Catra looked up at Adora for a moment, taking in the soft look on her face and the red mark across it, memorizing the lines and freckles and scars from her past. “Promise?” Her voice was low, content.

“I promise.” Adora brought her up for a gentle kiss, and Catra knew in an instant that she could live the rest of her life in that bed with her and never complain once. The candle flickered on the windowsill as a gentle breeze ran through the room, and Adora sighed against her. “I have to go soon,” She murmured. 

“Stay with me,” Catra yawned, sinking into the warmth of Adora’s body easily. “The sun’s not down yet.”

Adora didn’t think she’d be able to deny her anything, so she smiled and closed her eyes. “No,” She agreed. “We can wait a while longer.”

Catra hummed, letting her eyes fall shut. She readjusted, throwing a leg over Adora and running a hand up the edge of her shirt to rest gently against the hard muscle beneath it. 

Outside, the wind wiped away the lingering flame of the candle, and the sun began its descent below the horizon, but nothing could touch them there.


	4. i vow to thee, my country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra writes a letter. Adora reads a letter. Charles comes and goes. 
> 
> Winter rears its head, and rain falls in place of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! very excited to say that we're officially at the halfway point of the chapters (though knowing me the word count probably won't reflect that) and we're slowly getting to the climax of our story. it's going to be a wild ride. i can't wait for you to see it. 
> 
> without further ado, please enjoy!
> 
> (tw: implied sexual assault, implied suicidal ideation)

Winter began to take over Boston with biting cold and cloudy skies, but it didn’t seem to touch the warm joy in Adora’s face nor the radiant, sunny smile covering Catra’s own.

The two weeks they spent together were the happiest of her life. 

For one, Adora was able to make her way into the city more frequently, alternating between recruiting duty and spending entire afternoons with Catra. She left in the evenings -- the soldiers had begun to recognize her -- and watching her leave always made Catra’s heart twinge just a bit.

Adora’s strength began to return as time passed. By the time she was more healed (thanks to Micah’s orders and Adora’s grudging acceptance of them), they were able to find more and more ways to be with each other. 

There was, however, one small bump in the road. Scorpia had noticed the way Catra’s eyes lit up every time a particular tall stranger came into the inn, as well as how it always ended with her going upstairs a few moments after he did. By the time the weeks had passed, she’d become used to seeing his face. 

Catra hadn’t told her anything, of course, but neither of them were stupid. At the beginning, she’d worried briefly that Scorpia would expose the affair when Charles got home. She should’ve known better. All Scorpia said to her when she brought it up nervously one night was a kind smile and a mix of _I would never_ and _you deserve this_ , and that was the end of it.

The day Charles returned from New York, it was windy. 

Adora walked into the tavern with messy hair, already half-loose from the ribbon trying to keep it in place. 

They both knew it was risky to be together, and that they were tempting fate considering Charles could walk in at any moment, but neither of them could keep away. 

They _especially_ couldn’t keep away now, when they weren’t sure how much time they’d have together after this. 

The second Adora walked into the room that had by default become hers, Catra pulled her close and met her lips in a desperate, searing kiss that Adora returned instantly. Catra’s hand came to her cheek, stroking the edge of the scar there, and ran gently through Adora’s tangled hair. 

When they pulled away, foreheads resting together, Adora was already in the process of undoing her coat and belt. “When does he get back?” She asked in a low, rough voice. “How much time do we have?”

Following suit, Catra began to undo the stays at the back of her dress. “According to the letter he sent, he’ll be back by sundown. Better make it fast, Captain,” She said with a smirk. They had a few hours before that, but Adora liked taking her time. Normally, that was absolutely fine by Catra, but she had to admit her husband’s return weighed on her.

Adora grinned at her, pulling her in for a surprisingly gentle kiss before leaning back. “We have time.” She bit her lip for a moment, worrying at it with her teeth. “Listen, I-I hope you don’t mind, but… I brought something.”

Catra raised an eyebrow, helping Adora unbutton her waistcoat. “And what exactly did you bring?”

“It’s… a little unorthodox,” Adora said almost hesitantly, letting the waistcoat fall to the ground behind her. She tugged her scarf off, and the collar of her shirt fell open. “I normally wear it around the encampment to help me... pass, I suppose.”

“Pass?”

“As Adam. But listen,” Adora said softly. With a slow, controlled motion, her hands moved to Catra’s shoulders. “If it’s too much for you, we won’t use it.” 

Catra’s eyes flicked down to Adora’s pants, which seemed almost tighter today than they normally were. The reason why struck her instantly: there was a slight bulge in the crotch that she was unused to seeing. 

Her eyes widened when the dots connected in her mind. “Oh.”

“If you’re not comfortable, I understand completely,” Adora said with a hint of apprehension. “I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d… like it.”

“Do you know how to use it?” Catra asked quietly. Her mouth was suddenly very dry.

Adora stepped closer, wrapping a hand around Catra’s waist as the other reached up to cup her cheek. “I do.” She pressed a kiss to Catra’s forehead. “But I’m going to follow your lead. I-I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you.”

If they had come from anyone else, the words would have seemed hollow and empty, but Adora gave her such a look of fondness and sincerity that Catra couldn’t help but believe it. 

In the last few weeks, there were times where she’d had some difficulty conveying exactly what she wanted, and there was always an instinctual fear of backlash from Adora, whether about her indecision or her hesitation.

It never came. 

Instead, all she got in return was patience and understanding, and Catra felt her heart so full of warmth it was almost overwhelming. 

Catra gave her a genuine, soft smile in return. “Thank you,” She said quietly. “I-I won’t lie, it’s… not an entirely unappealing idea.” Her eyes flicked down again to the bulge in Adora’s pants. “Can I see it?” She asked, almost hesitant. Her fingers trailed lightly down Adora’s front until they reached her waistband.

She could feel Adora’s abs tense under her fingers as she swallowed hard. “Of course.” Her hands undid the buttons of her pants slowly, and let them slide down to her ankles. The sight had Catra swallowing hard. 

Around her hips, in a snugly-fitting harness, hung a long wooden approximation of a penis. It was elegantly carved, and the length had a slight upward curve to it. It was realistic without being overly real, which she could appreciate. She’d heard more than a few of the women she knew talking about using similar implements when their husbands were gone.

Looking at it now, she understood the appeal. 

Adora was studying her face intently, gauging her reaction, and when Catra reached down to trail her fingers up it, feeling the smooth and solid wood under her touch, she gulped a little. “Catra, I don’t have to wear it.”

Catra thought of her experiences with penetration so far. The vast majority had been negative to say the least, and part of her wanted to forgo it entirely. 

Yet what Adora offered, more than just an afternoon of pleasure, was a way to reclaim it for herself in a setting free of her husband’s influence. By now, Catra knew on some level that her needs would be respected if she communicated them, and Adora would never push her past what she was comfortable with.

(Plus, the cock in her hands couldn’t have been longer than 7 inches, but it was still significantly larger than Charles had ever been. The idea was intriguing to say the least.)

After a moment’s consideration, Catra looked back up at her. “I want you to.” She bit her lip a little, watching Adora’s eyes widen. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” She said a little shakily, swallowing thickly. Adora’s eyes flicked down to where Catra’s hands were still trailing lightly up and down the underside of the shaft, and Catra saw her pupils darkening rapidly. 

“Do you… get pleasure from this?” Catra asked. She pushed past the blush on her face to meet Adora’s eyes. She wrapped her hand more firmly around the base of the cock, tugging gently and watching Adora’s breath hitch.

Adora nodded a little jerkily. “I-I do. Um.” Catra raised her eyebrows, clearly inviting her to elaborate, and Adora swallowed hard before she continued, “For one, I like the visual of it. A-And the position of it against me is… good. I had it altered recently to stimulate me better,” She said, blushing a little in embarrassment at the bluntness of the words. “Otherwise I’d have brought it in sooner.”

Catra looked down and saw where it sat against her hips. Given how it was positioned and the snugness of the harness, it seemed as though the base would rub against her clit, which eased Catra’s mind about Adora’s own pleasure. 

She was a generous lover, but usually _too_ generous. The more comfortable Catra grew with sex, the more she wanted to see Adora experiencing it the same way she did. She’d learned quickly that Adora wasn’t the biggest fan of penetration, and didn’t always need to cum the way Catra did, but it always left a twinge of regret in her when she was the only one properly satisfied. 

In other words, this seemed like the perfect solution. And admittedly, this was an area where Catra had a fair amount of expertise.

An idea popped into her head. Taking a simple ribbon from one of her pockets, Catra tied her hair back in a neat ponytail.

“Hand me a pillow,” She said, voice raspier than it had been a moment before, and Adora’s face flickered in confusion. She obliged, though, and grabbed one from the bed. 

“Alright, but I don’t underst--” Adora began, raising an eyebrow a little as she did, before she abruptly cut off as Catra pushed her back by the chest until her knees hit the bed. She sat down, the cock jutting out proudly from her hips. 

Catra put the pillow on the ground and knelt down on it in front of her, and Adora realized with a sudden spike of heat _exactly_ what was going on. “Oh,” She breathed. “Oh my God. Catra, a-are you sure?”

“I am,” Catra answered easily, giving her a reassuring nod. “I... want to make you feel the way I do. You said you like the visual?” 

Adora’s eyes were almost black with how wide her pupils were, and she swallowed hard before nodding. With a small smirk, Catra leaned forward, focusing her attention on the length in front of her. “Then I’ll give you something to watch.”

Making eye contact with Adora, she took the head of it into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it. Adora let out a shaky exhale above her, and it spurred Catra on. 

Wrapping a hand around the base of the dildo, she began to bob her head up and down on it slowly, taking a little more in her mouth every time. Her hand pumped it gently as she did, and she could feel it rocking back and forth against Adora’s hips. 

Catra realized she could smell Adora’s arousal from where she was, and she moaned around the length at the thought.

The feeling had Adora letting out a low, almost guttural sound, and one of her hands found Catra’s ponytail, winding through it as her nails scratched bluntly against her head. “F-Fuck,” She groaned, hands tightening just for a second in Catra’s hair. 

The sudden spike of pain was followed instantly by soothing pleasure, and it made Catra let out another soft moan around the shaft. 

She bobbed her head forward again, taking it a little deeper until she felt it hit the back of her throat, and looked up at Adora’s wide, dark eyes. She could see how ragged her breathing had become, how her chest was just barely beginning to heave with the effort of holding herself back, and decided to test her a little. 

Catra pulled almost entirely off of Adora’s cock, leaning back from the head and watching a thin trail of spit connect her to it. She pressed a light kiss to the head, looking up at her with a devious glint in her eye. 

Then in one smooth, fluid motion, she took the length in her mouth as deep as it would go. Using the hand wrapped around the base, Catra pushed firmly back against Adora’s hips, and the resulting noise as it pressed hard against her clit -- somewhere between a moan, a whine, and a gasp -- sent a pulse of heat down her stomach. 

Adora’s nails scraped over her scalp again, harder this time. For a second, Catra’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, and she hummed around Adora’s length for a second. There was an instant, if slight, jerk of Adora’s hips, and Catra’s eyes widened as she felt her cock hit the back of her throat. 

Adora pulled Catra’s head off her instantly with a gentle, steady hand. She looked worried. “Shit. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Do that again.” Catra could hear how low her own voice had gotten, only made rougher by what she’d been doing. “Gently, though. I still need to be able to speak when we’re done,” She said, only half-joking. 

Judging by the way Adora’s eyes widened, her words were taken far more seriously. She swallowed hard. “Do you want-- fuck,” She said with a small, breathy chuckle. Her face was redder than Catra had ever seen it. It took her a few tries to properly vocalize her question. “Do you want me to sit or-- or stand?” 

Catra thought for a moment. “Stay,” She said. “I like you here.” 

The words had an instant effect on Adora, and she blinked rapidly a few times before nodding furiously. By this point, she’d long abandoned her earlier mission of trying to hide her blush. “Um. O-Okay.”

_That_ was an interesting reaction, Catra thought. 

Normally, Adora was in charge, if only by default; it was hard not to be with her head between Catra’s legs or her fingers buried inside her. But over the last two weeks, Catra had found out how good she was at following orders. She supposed any soldier would be. Even here, on her knees with spit running down the side of her face and an ache already growing in her jaw, Catra felt a sense of control over the situation. 

She liked that.

Judging by how quickly Adora’s breathing changed, she wasn’t the only one. 

She swallowed hard as Catra shifted the pillow on the ground, readjusting her ponytail before opening her mouth wide and looking back up at Adora as she took the first few inches of her cock in her mouth. Remembering her task, Adora began to thrust gently up into her mouth as she did, and almost instantly they were able to settle into a rhythm. 

Catra’s fist stayed wrapped around the base of the wood, pressing with every thrust of Adora’s against her clit, and she relaxed her throat enough to take almost the entire length in her mouth. 

Adora’s pace picked up just a little, and she did her best to stifle a small whine in the back of her throat as Catra slid her other hand under her shirt and raked her nails gently down the firm muscles there. She was careful to avoid the recent injury on the side of it, but she’d come to realize by now just how much Adora enjoyed the gentle sensation of pain.

She did it again, keeping her eyes locked on Adora’s face and her mouth open, and as the muscles began to tense under her fingers and the pace of her hips started to stutter, Catra realized what was happening with an instant feeling of satisfaction. 

Adora let out a few uncharacteristically high-pitched noises above her, eyes shutting tightly closed, and when she came in Catra’s mouth it was with a strangled, keening whine that Catra almost wouldn’t have expected her to make. The sound, coupled with her pride at what she’d managed to do to Adora, sent another pulse right down to her pussy.

She sucked Adora gently through what she now recognized as the aftershocks of her orgasm gently, feeling her hands tighten in her hair when the base of the wood pressed against her clit. 

“ _God_ , Catra,” Adora panted, watching her slide her mouth off of the shaft with a satisfied, smug look. “Fuck. I-- fuck.” There was a breathy edge to her voice, clearly a little strained from the exertion of fucking up into Catra’s mouth.

“Something wrong, Captain? You sound a little worn out.” She tried to come off as smug and sexy, but Catra could hear the need in her voice. She allowed herself to focus her attention on the wetness gathering rapidly between her own legs, and began to snake her hand down almost reflexively to alleviate some of the heat building there.

Something flickered behind Adora’s eyes as they landed on the movement of Catra’s wrist, and she shook her head as her hand reached down to still it. “I’ve never been better,” She said with just a hint of the same low tone she’d had earlier. “Lie down, my love. I’ll show you.”

Catra was on her feet instantly, ignoring the soreness in her knees, and did her best to undo her dress. Adora reached behind her and helped, and within a few seconds it was pooled on the ground around her feet. Catra laid herself back on the bed and stared at Adora with poorly-hidden desire.

Adora slowly, carefully positioned herself on top of her before kneeling between her thighs. She moved Catra’s legs apart, pushing the hem of her shift up a bit to run her hands up under it. Her eyes widened again when she saw how wet Catra was, and let out a shaky exhale. “Guess I’m not the only one who liked that,” Adora said with just a hint of smugness. 

With a blush, Catra rolled her eyes. “Better hurry up, Captain. We wouldn’t want to--” She choked off with a breathy gasp as one of Adora’s long, nimble fingers pushed easily inside of her, finding no resistance given how turned on she was. 

Adora curled her finger a little inside her, sliding it easily in and out, but after the waiting and the anticipation, it wasn’t enough. Catra needed--

“M-More,” She breathed, feeling Adora’s other hand slide up her body until it began to circle one of her nipples. She couldn’t help but arch up into the touch, letting out a soft whine as Adora gently rolled the stiff bud between her fingers. “Please. Fuck, I-I need more.”

Adora nodded, and then Catra felt a second finger slide into her without resistance. 

The stretch was momentary, but the burn of it sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure to her core, and Catra knew instantly what she needed. Adora’s fingers sped up inside her, thrusting in and out easily, and one of Catra’s hands flew to her hair to drag her forward into a messy, needy kiss. 

Catra broke it with a gasp as Adora curled her fingers inside her again. “Adora, I-I--”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I-- Fuck, I need your cock,” Catra groaned, feeling the fingers on her nipple tighten just a bit.

Adora’s fingers, both on her and inside her, were gone in a second, and Catra whined at the loss before Adora crawled up her body. 

She spread Catra’s legs wider apart and supported herself with her free hand while the other began to line up the wood against Catra’s entrance. Before she pushed in, Adora looked up at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push you, Catra, so--”

With a small noise of desperate frustration, Catra shook her head. “I need you to fuck me. Please,” She added, her voice barely greater than a whimper. 

Adora’s eyes darkened, and she pushed the tip gently against Catra’s entrance, sliding in slowly. 

Instantly, the burn of the stretch overtook her, and Catra’s eyes almost rolled back in her head. Adora reached for her hand and laced their fingers together as she pushed in more. By the time she bottomed out inside her, Catra’s mouth hung open, and she was letting out little gasping whines into the air. 

Adora let her adjust to the fullness before she moved her hips back and thrusted shallowly into her. Catra didn’t do this very often, so she was trying to start slow. But the noise Catra made in response seared itself into Adora’s brain immediately, and suddenly all she wanted to do was hear it again. 

The next thrust was a little deeper, and Catra’s back arched up at the feeling. 

Her free hand dug hard into Adora’s back. She dragged her nails down the hard planes of muscle, feeling them shift and stiffen under her as Adora reacted, and when Adora thrusted the whole length in and out of her in the next few movements, she could feel herself already beginning to tighten around it.

Adora was watching her face intently with an almost awed expression on her face as their hips met again and again, and she leaned down to give her another needy, desperate kiss. She rested their foreheads together as Catra’s legs came up to wrap around her hips, and the change in angle made the tendons in Catra’s neck tense as she let out a short, high-pitched moan.

Catra could feel herself rapidly approaching the edge as Adora’s pace increased. Somewhere outside her body she heard the bedframe squeaking a little, and the headboard thudded against the wall in time with Adora’s thrusts. Her head fell back against the pillow the closer she got. “F-Fuck. Adora, fuck, I-I’m going to--”

“Do it,” Adora grunted, her voice strained from the effort. “Fuck. Do it, Catra.”

She leaned down to kiss her again, and the long, keening sound Catra let out as she came was stifled by Adora’s lips. 

She broke the kiss to gasp as Adora’s pace slowed down through the aftershocks, and pulled her in by the back of the neck to be as close as she possibly could, feeling pleasure crest over her in wave after wave as she clenched hard around Adora’s cock. 

Then, there was a knock at the door.

They both froze instantly.

Adora pulled back to look at her in a mix of shock and horror, and Catra blinked through her haze of pleasure to ask, shakily, “Who is it?”

Scorpia’s voice came through the door. “Uh, it--it’s me, Catra. Apologies. You told me to warn you when your husband came in, remember?”

Catra felt her blood run cold. 

“No,” She breathed. “No, he--he’s not supposed to be back for an hour at least--”

“Apparently, his carriage came early,” Scorpia said. There was a pause. “Are--you’re busy, right? I’ll tell him you’re busy.” Footsteps sounded away from the door, and Catra could have screamed. 

“Shit,” Catra hissed. “Fuck.”

Adora was already pulling out of her, and Catra barely stifled a whimper at the loss of fullness and how sensitiveshe was. “Shit. Sorry,” Adora whispered as Catra winced a little, trying to keep her voice down as she frantically pulled her pants back on. She buttoned them haphazardly over her still-dripping cock before tugging her boots back on. 

She did her best to collect her things, and helped Catra off the bed before tying the back of her dress up as neatly as she could manage. 

“Why is he back so soon?” Adora asked, barely above a whisper as she hastily buttoned up her coat. 

Catra didn’t know, but she knew it couldn’t be good.

There were footsteps down the hall, and they heard Charles’ voice talking to Scorpia. “--I don’t _care_ if she’s busy. I want to see my wife.”

Fear flooded Catra’s system, and she found herself staring frozen at the door as the steps got closer and closer. Adora’s eyes darted around until they locked on the windowsill. 

“Perfect.” Adora rushed to the window. Before she did, she turned to pull Catra in for a hasty good-bye kiss. 

Catra let out a quick, shaky exhale. “Don’t get caught.”

“Who, me?” Adora asked with a lopsided grin. “Never.” Tugging her coat on, she practically leapt out of the windowsill, hoisting her body through it before climbing carefully to the street below. Moments later, Catra watched a familiar shape weave through the crowds below with an overwhelming sense of relief. 

Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Not even a second later, the door to the room opened and Charles walked in. 

Catra forced a smile onto her face. “My love, you--you’re back early,” She said, trying not to let her panic show. 

If Charles noticed the smell of sex heavy in the room or the paleness of Catra’s face, he didn’t comment. “I have big news, my darling,” He said with a smug grin. “The king has granted me a commission. I’m to be made a Commander.” He puffed up his chest a little as he said it. “I sail to England in three days’ time to receive my orders and my battalion.”

Ignoring the way her stomach began to sink, Catra tried to make her smile reach her eyes. “That’s-- Charles, that’s amazing,” She said, trying to put as much enthusiasm into the words as possible. 

“It is,” Charles said proudly. “And you’re coming with me, of course.”

Catra felt her heart stop. 

“What?” She tried to keep her voice as even as possible, but only half-succeeded. The word ended in a strangled half-whisper. “I-I can’t, my love,” She said shakily, searching desperately for a reason why. “The-- I have to run the inn.”

“Scorpia can manage it,” Charles said with a cruel twist to his face. “We’re going to England.”

“No, I-I can’t, ”Catra insisted, shaking her head. She could barely think. Faintly, she was aware of her heart rate and breathing speeding up, and desperately tried to focus on the room around her. “Charles, _please_ , I-I can’t leave it.”

“And why not?” He asked, a hard edge entering his voice.

“I--” Catra shook her head for a moment to buy herself time. “It’s my family’s tavern, Charles. A-And with all the unrest recently, I can’t just _leave_ it here--”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” He asked, slowly moving closer to where she stood near the window. “I ask you for _one_ thing. You leave in the middle of the day to do-- to do _God knows what_ ,” He spat, stepping closer to her, “You never want to sleep with me, and you can’t bear me any children. Why can’t you do something _useful_ for once?” He slammed his hand down on the desk.

Catra flinched at the sound, swallowing thickly as her eyes darted to where his hand lay flat on the table. “My love, please just-- try to understand--”

“No.” Charles shook his head, taking a slow step towards her until he was less than a few inches away from her. “You’re my wife. You’re my _property_.” His voice was steely cold. “I don’t know why we’re even having this discussion. I’ve made it clear what’s to happen.”

“Charles, _please_ , I’ll--”

“What?” He asked coldly. “What will you do?”

Well, there was one thing she could do.

It was a horrible idea, and the mere thought of it made Catra want to peel off her skin layer by layer. But for Charles, a man so desperate for a reputation, a lineage, and a way to leave something behind, it was the only possible thing that could convince him. 

“...We can try again.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Try again for what?” He asked, a note of confusion entering the hardness of his voice.

“A child.” Catra felt bile rise in her throat, and she tried to keep it from coming up. “If it doesn’t work with… me, we’ll adopt.” As steady as she tried to make it, her voice cracked on the last word. She had to turn to the side to hide the tears in her eyes. 

Charles stared open-mouthed at her. “You never let me touch you. Would you really start now?”

Trying not to let the disgust she felt show, Catra nodded a few jerky times.

“You would rather raise a child than go to England for a few months?” His voice was disbelieving.

Catra knew it was a selfish, dangerous thing to do. She knew her life would probably change forever because of it. She knew, with a sinking feeling, that if she did this, there was a good chance she would never see Adora again. 

She thought of a long, arduous voyage and a trip she probably wouldn’t survive, whether by his hand or her own. Then, she thought of warm smiles, soft touches, and quietly uttered words that rang in her ears like a bell. If Catra was being honest, there was nothing in the world that she wouldn’t give up in a second to be with Adora a few moments longer.

So before she could stop herself or think twice, Catra said, “Yes.” Charles opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “I’ll stay here. I’ll keep the soldiers quartered and fed, and I-I’ll make sure they’re ready for when you come back.” The words sounded hollow coming out of her mouth.

“And when I do, we’ll start our family?” He asked. The thin vein of hope in his voice was nearly too much for her to bear. 

She couldn’t bring herself to speak, so instead, she nodded weakly. “Yes, my love.”

Charles leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, pulling her close with a hand firm on the back of her neck, and she froze up at the touch, swallowing hard as he pulled away. She gave him her best attempt at a smile, but his eyes were locked on something on the desk.

Following his gaze down, Catra saw a blue ribbon laying there.

As in, _Adora’s_ blue ribbon laying there.

“What’s this?” He asked, picking it up and running his fingers over it. “I thought all of yours were black.”

_Fuck._

Doing her best not to throw up, Catra nodded. “They are,” She said. “That was-- it was a gift.”

“From who?” Charles didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his voice. “Who gave you this?”

“Scorpia,” Catra lied. “She let me borrow it during one of our busier nights.”

It was a weak lie, especially considering how short Scorpia’s hair was and had been for the time she’d been working there. But Charles seemed to accept it, turning it over in his hands. “I’ll give it back to her when I see her, then,” He said. 

Catra’s eyes widened a little as she tried to gauge the risk. “No, I-I can do it--”

“I _said_ I’ll give it to her.” Charles’ voice had just an edge of hardness to it that made her back stiffen against the wall.

She swallowed, trying not to let the tremor in her voice show. “Of course.” Catra cleared her throat. She needed to tell Adora (and, to a lesser extent, the Rebellion) what was happening. Her eyes darted around the desk until they landed on an inkwell. 

Catra looked back to Charles. “I’ll be downstairs in a moment. I-I need to write a letter, my love. The-- the farmers that deliver our hops have been charging more recently, and I have to talk to them about it.”

It was a believable lie, one that she knew Charles would let pass easily without examining it too closely. Although he liked to talk a big game about being Boston’s most successful innkeeper, he knew next to nothing about the way it was _actually_ run. That was all Catra’s job, and he left it to her. 

Sure enough, Charles nodded. “Fine. Don’t take too long.”

She forced a weak smile onto her face. “I won’t.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Catra nearly collapsed into the chair at the desk. Her thoughts raced through her head nearly at the speed of light, and the magnitude of what she had done almost surprised her. 

Almost.

Catra thought long and hard about the letter she was about to write, trying to justify what she had just done to herself and to Adora. More than anything else that welled up in her -- more than the fear and the bile and the hatred -- was the unrelenting thought that she’d just doomed them both. 

Taking a pen and dipping it lightly in the inkwell before her, she began to write the truth of what had just happened.

The ideas made themselves known instantly, of course: her husband was a monster, she wouldn’t survive a months-long trip to England, and she’d risk everything in her life for a little more time with the woman she loved. 

_My dear A,_ she wrote. _I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to tell you._

*** * ***

When a letter addressed to _Cpt. A. Fairchild_ arrived at the encampment stamped haphazardly and written in scratchy penmanship, the private that brought it to him almost considered it a joke. 

Adam, however, seemed to take it very seriously, and looked up when the letter was mentioned. “A letter? Who sent it?” He asked, eyes dipping down to look at the writing. 

“The only mark the sender made were the initials _CF_ , sir.” 

_CF?_ He frowned a little, trying to think of anyone he knew by that name that could reach him at the encampment so quickly. Then it hit him, and Adam stood ramrod straight. _Catra Fairchild._

His expression flickered almost imperceptibly, and he stretched out a hand. “Give it to me and return to your post, Private.”

The other soldier left the room quickly, hearing the strain in Adam’s voice, and saluted briefly before leaving the tent.

Adam watched him leave, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes flicked back to the letter. Fumbling around on the table for a moment, he found a letter opener and broke the seal easily. His eyes scanned the page at breakneck speed, widening as he read the contents. 

He could _hear_ Catra’s voice in his head, as if she were there reading it aloud to him. 

_My dear A,_

_I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to tell you._

_Charles has returned, and will depart for England in a few days to receive a commission and orders from the Crown._

_I will not go with him._

When he read the next line, Adam felt his heart shatter.

_But the weeks he is gone will likely be the last we will ever spend together_. _In exchange for staying behind, I’ve promised to bear him a child and never leave his side again._

Adam could see tear stains on the paper that smudged the ink. 

He felt his blood run cold, and practically fell backwards into a seat as the words sunk in. The rest of the letter barely registered for him, and all he could focus on was the grief emanating from every line.

He knew Catra well by now, but the resolve in her writing still surprised him. More than anything, it was clear she had resigned herself to this. That nearly killed him. 

The further down he read, the greater the stains on the paper grew, and he felt tears pricking at his own eyes. 

The last line read, _I’m sorry, my love._

_Always and forever, your C._

His decision to leave was instantaneous and barely-thought out, but he knew it was the right one. He had to see her. 

Adam had never dealt well with ultimatums or life-or-death situations that didn’t involve him, so even though he knew it was probably a terrible, selfish idea, he had to. There _had_ to be a way to fix this. 

If there wasn’t, Adam wasn’t sure what he would do. 

Never in his life had he felt so strongly about anyone. Now, he ran the risk of losing the woman he loved. He couldn’t do it. He _wouldn’t_ do it. 

(People had told him his whole life that love would make him weak, so he’d done his best to stay far from it. 

Then he’d met Bow and Glimmer and realized for the first time how wrong it was. The love they shared was different, obviously, but he’d have died more than a few times if not for them, and he felt more and more secure every day because of their love for him. 

And even now, when he was at his most vulnerable around Catra, he felt stronger. 

There was nothing that could hurt them as long as they were together.) 

The letter dropped to the floor as Adam moved, heart and mind set on Catra and any avoidance of her fate, towards the door.

Outside, he found the private he’d spoken to earlier. “Prepare a horse,” Adam said hurriedly. “I have business in the city.”

Normally, the ride there would take much more time, but Adam couldn’t bring himself to be as careful as he should’ve been. 

Trees whipped by him in the forest, and he felt more than a few stinging branches carve into the skin of his face, and by the time he tied his horse up in the alley next to the inn, he could feel blood dripping down his cheek. 

Adam felt a vague feeling of unease as he pushed the door open hastily, almost as if he’d forgotten something important, but he shoved it down. Whatever it was, it could wait, because he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than Catra right now. He had to see her, even if it meant--

“Captain. What a nice surprise.” Adam’s eyes snapped over to where Charles stood behind the bar. There was a cruel smirk on his face. “Did you leave something behind last time?”

Adam realized, with a cruel smack of hindsight, that he didn’t check the candle in the window.

_Shit._

“Um.” Adam blinked, trying to come up with something. “A-A ribbon,” He said distractedly, scanning the room for Catra. He didn’t see her. He _also_ didn’t see Charles’ eyes widen. “It must’ve fallen out last time I was here.”

“I see,” Charles said tightly. The anger suddenly present in his voice made Adam turn back towards him. “Do you remember what I told you the last time you came in here?” He asked, pulling a flintlock slowly out from the bar. 

Adam sighed in frustration. This was starting to get on his nerves. “ _Yes_ , Charles. You said you would kill--” There was movement from the kitchen, and Catra came out through the doors with a plate of mugs that she dropped as soon as her eyes landed on the scene in front of her. “Mrs. Monroe,” Adam said distantly, staring at her.

Catra looked ragged, as though she hadn’t slept in days. Adam could see a hint of purpling under her eyes. She looked gaunt and thin in the candlelight, like someone had taken what remained of her spirit and left a husk behind.

The blood drained from her face when she saw him. “What are you doing here?” She asked, voice growing thick with fear. “You weren’t supposed to come back.” They could both hear the tremor in her voice.

Adam shook his head, trying desperately to come up with an excuse better than the truth, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Charles said, “Does it matter, darling? He’s here, and in a few moments, he’ll be dead.” He was still staring directly at Adam with something unreadable in his expression. 

“No,” Catra breathed. “No, you-- you can’t--” Adam’s eyes flicked over to her and stayed there, and he was sure the expression on his face was as raw as he felt. He’d never been good at concealing his emotions. 

“Don’t look at my wife like that,” Charles said in a low, cold tone. “Don’t you dare.”

Catra’s eyes widened, and she ran to his side, putting a hand on his arm desperately. “Charles, _please_ \--”

He shook her off roughly. “Why the _fuck_ do you keep defending him?” Charles cocked the gun and aimed at Adam’s chest, never moving his gaze away from Adam’s face. “What has he done to you?” There was a thick current of anger running through his voice. 

Adam’s eyes flicked over to Catra for a second before landing back on Charles. “Nothing,” He said hastily. “This is the first time I’ve been back in months.” He prayed the lie was convincing enough to spare them both.

It was _not_ , and Catra could barely stand to watch. “Please. Don’t do this, Charles.” She swallowed hard, searching for ways to convince him. “Don’t let this be my last memory of you before you leave.”

“Put the gun down, Charles, and I’ll be out of here before you know it.” Adam’s voice was careful, and he hoped the thread of fear in it wasn’t too obvious. “Your wife is innocent,” He said, trying desperately not to look over again.

“My _wife_ ,” Charles spat, “is none of your concern. Get out.” His jaw pulsed for a moment, trying to determine what to do. 

There was a group of soldiers in the corner that were watching the scene intently, and he nodded to them. “I won’t spill his blood in here. Follow him, and if you catch him, hold him down and come find me.” He turned back to Adam with a cold, cruel expression. “I’ll blow his brains out myself.”

Adam swallowed, and looked over to see Catra staring at him with a hollow, broken expression. “You heard my husband, Captain Fairchild.” Her voice was thin and distant. “Go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He said quietly, staring at her. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Adam could see the soldiers standing, cracking their knuckles and preparing to chase him, so he dipped his head to her in apology and left without another word. 

Adam felt Catra’s eyes burning into him as he left, and the second he was out the door, turning into the alley and hopping back up onto his horse, he felt like he was going to explode.

Emotions flooded him in waves: guilt, for putting them both in such danger; shame, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain; and more than anything else, fear. 

It burned through him, walking the fine line between white-hot and freezing cold, until he was sure he’d lost the Redcoats hunting him and emptied the contents of his stomach behind a building on the other side of town. 

Adora pulled the ribbon from her hair and sagged against the wall, panting from the adrenaline and the exertion of the last half hour. 

_Fuck._

*** * ***

The second Charles left for England -- she made sure to watch the ship until it sailed into the horizon -- Catra wrapped her cloak around her and began to set off for the encampment. 

Adora’s heart had been in the right place, she knew, but the repercussions of her _visit_ had put both of them at risk in a huge, dangerous way. 

Catra had resorted to taking her husband to bed to calm his nerves, thinking the whole time about longer, thinner fingers and softer hair in place of clumsiness and coarseness. She’d felt an overwhelming sense of disgust about the situation, and there had been a terrified, blinding sort of anger running through her ever since. 

She moved quickly towards the forest, thoroughly ignoring any attempt to derail her, and by the time she reached the strategy tent’s doors, the soldiers knew let her through without question. “Mrs. Fairchild,” said one of them, dipping his head to her in respect. 

“Where’s Adam?”

He blinked. “The captain is in his quarters.”

“Bring me to him,” She said, not bothering to hide the low thrum of anger in her voice. “We have something important to discuss.”

Adora had her hair down when the tent flaps opened, and she turned in confusion that was wiped away by apprehension the second their eyes met. “Catra,” She said quietly. “He’s gone, then?”

Her voice was smaller than Catra had ever heard it, and it was clear how nervous she was.

Catra nodded tightly. “He is.”

“Good,” Adora said carefully. “I’m glad to hear that--”

“Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous it was to come in like that?” Catra asked in a low, furious voice. Adora, who clearly knew this was coming, winced. “Do you know what he would have done to us if he’d found out?”

Adora’s eyes closed, and she shook her head a little. “I’m sorry, I--”

“Save it,” Catra interrupted. “I’m not finished. Ado--” She cut herself off, mindful of the soldiers outside. “ _Adam_ , you could have gotten both of us killed. Or, knowing my husband, something worse.”

“I got your letter,” Adora said quietly. “I couldn’t-- I didn’t know what else to do. I had to see you.”

“You should’ve _waited--_ ”

“I couldn’t wait.” Urgency snuck into Adora’s voice, and she threw the papers down on her desk. “How could I have left you like that? What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” 

Catra shook her head. “Anything. Anything but that.” She swallowed. This was a low blow, but she had to make sure her point went across. “Did you know I had to sleep with him to make sure he didn’t kill you?” 

The words seemed to echo loudly in the tent. She knew the hardness in her voice came across when Adora flinched a little at the sound of it. She felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach, but pushed it down. 

All the fight seemed to drain out of Adora in a second at the words, and she nearly collapsed into a chair. One of her hands moved absently at the fresh scar on her abdomen, clutching it tightly. 

After a moment, she looked up at Catra with watery eyes. “You shouldn’t have had to do that for me. I’m sorry. I-I know it was a foolish thing to do, I just--” Her voice grew thick, and she shook her head a little. “I had to see you. It’s not a justification, I just...” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I--you’re right. I should have waited until it was safe.”

Looking at how earnest and vulnerable Adora’s expression was, Catra could feel her resolve and anger weakening by the second. “You think I don’t know that? He hurt me enough as it is, but he could have _killed_ you, Adora,” She said quietly. 

Catra didn’t know when her voice had gotten so hoarse, but there it was, barely above a whisper. She could feel her throat burn. “I couldn’t watch him do it. Not when I--” She turned to the side as her voice broke a little. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Not when I love you as much as I do.”

From the other side of the room, she heard the chair creak as Adora stood up. Footsteps made their way over, but she kept her eyes closed. 

Warm, strong hands wrapped around her tightly, and the first time she let herself cry was against a solid, bound chest. “I love you too,” Adora murmured against the top of her head, closing her eyes as she pressed a firm kiss to it. Catra felt tears hitting her hair. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” She pulled away for a moment, rubbing Catra’s back firmly to ground her in reality. “We’re going to get you out of this.” 

“How?” Catra croaked. She wiped away the tears on her face with the back of her hand, feeling her own knuckles press against the skin.

The arms around her tightened, and Catra let herself be held, fisting her hands tightly into the front of Adora’s shirt. “We’ll find a way. We have to.”

It was like she was watching from somewhere outside her body. She could almost see Adora’s eyes shutting tightly as she held her close, could almost see her own hands trembling as they wiped tears off her cheeks, could almost see the water falling from the clouds as rain began to tap gently on the tent’s roof. 

Catra knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever they were doing now would doom them. She knew that. The scene they stood in, even now, was steeped in tragedy.

Yet as she felt Adora’s arms around her and heard the whispered words of love she was mumbling against her forehead, Catra couldn’t bring herself to care. If all they got were a few months, then they would make the most of them.

“Stay here with me tonight,” Adora said hoarsely. “Please.”

It would be the first time they’d ever properly had the chance. Before this, they always ran the risk of Charles returning early or the inn burning down. 

But tonight Scorpia knew the situation beforehand -- Catra was mad, yes, but she was also a realist -- and had hired a few of her friends as extra staff for the night. Regarding Charles, Catra had watched the ship sail into the ocean until she was sure it wouldn’t return only an hour prior to this. 

She was certain there was still an element of risk somewhere, but right now she let herself ignore it. All she wanted was to be close to Adora and never let her go. 

Without hesitation, Catra nodded and closed her eyes. “I will. I--” She swallowed. “If I’m honest, I never want to leave your side again.”

Adora smiled, leaning back to pull her up into a warm, soft kiss. “Neither do I.”

“Promise me you won’t?” Catra asked against her lips, eyes falling shut.

It was starting to become something of a theme between them. They made promises for everything -- kisses, adoration, and praise, to name a few -- so Adora let out a soft chuckle at the familiarity of it. “I promise.”

The rain above them fell more insistently, and it felt as though they were blanketed by it, wrapped away somewhere out of time. Right now, all that mattered was the feeling of Adora’s lips on hers. She sighed into the kiss. 

Catra thought idly that if this was to be the source of her doom, she would gladly face eternity for a few more minutes of it. 


	5. the girl i left behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora goes to war. Catra rides to follow her. Charles returns.
> 
> Winter fades and thaws, and all spring brings is rain. The Rebellion is finally realized. Nothing will ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! i know this chapter is reaching you a week later than it's supposed to be, but i promise it's worth the wait. saying that we're getting close to the end of this fic feels a little unreal. i can't wait for you guys to see the rest of it!
> 
> as always, kudos and comments make my day, and you can talk to alex and i on tumblr at @adorasheart and @brightbolts. enjoy!

_JANUARY 19, 1775_. _OUTSIDE OF BOSTON._

It snowed the morning of Adora’s birthday. 

A blizzard had moved through the area a few nights prior, leaving Catra and Adora to weather it under furs and every coat they could find in the tent. Yet that morning, the powdery, gentle flakes they walked out to in the soft early light were completely different. 

If she had believed in that sort of thing, it would have seemed to Catra to signal a change. 

It had become more than common for Catra to spend the night at the encampment, just as it had been for Adora to make the journey over to the tavern. They spent almost every evening they could spare in each others’ arms, neither wanting the spell of the night sky to break. 

But every morning it did. 

Catra would send Adora off with a hard kiss and a promise, and Adora would return both without hesitation.

If they were at the encampment, Catra would linger a while under the guise of strategy — she knew by now how to crack the codes the rest of the British intel was written in, and would often help Adora, Bow, and Glimmer formulate the best ways around them — and if not, Adora would go through the window to avoid being seen by any particularly nosy Redcoats. 

The two of them would wait until nightfall to see each other again, the day building their anticipation up to a breaking point until the moment they saw each other again, and it always felt like coming home after a long time away. 

They would kiss like it had been years since they’d done it last and stay up half the night talking, cuddling, and making the other forget their name. 

Then the sun would rise, and the cycle would start over. 

But not today. 

No, today was a special occasion, and if Scorpia was asked where Mrs. Monroe was, she was told to respond with _away on business_. 

That morning, Catra woke up first. 

At the beginning of their time together, there was always an instant of confusion she had when she woke up in the tent. Now, she thought of it as more of a home than the tavern was.

She opened her eyes to see soft, pale light coming from outside it, cracking through the thinner parts of the canvas, and felt Adora’s arm solid and protective around her waist. 

She felt hot, even breaths on the back of her neck, and smiled to herself. Closing her eyes again, she snuggled back into Adora’s warm body with a contented hum. Behind her, she felt Adora shift, pulling her tighter with a small, sleepy noise. “G’morning,” Adora mumbled.

Catra’s smile grew a little wider. “Good morning to you, too.” She turned in Adora’s arms until they were laying with their noses almost touching. “It’s a special day.”

“Not yet. ‘S too early.” Adora yawned a little. Her voice was rough with sleep, and Catra leaned up to press a small kiss to her forehead. Every time she saw this side of Adora, half-asleep and endlessly sweet, her heart felt like it was about to burst. “Few more minutes,” She mumbled, eyes still closed. 

Catra always had trouble denying her, so she nodded. “Only a few. Then it’s your birthday.”

Adora nodded, pulling her close. Catra let her head be tucked under Adora’s chin, wrapping an arm around her torso to hold tightly to her. She ran a hand over the broad, hard planes that made up Adora’s back, hands splaying out over the muscle there. She felt small, now-healed scars, and felt much longer, fresher wounds her nails had made the night before.

The memory made Catra blush, as did the ache between her legs, but it helped remind her of her plans for the evening. Adora had told her repeatedly that she didn’t need any presents, that she didn’t want anything special, but Catra couldn’t let that stand. 

Nor, as it turned out, could Bow and Glimmer. 

They were aware by now of just how much time Catra and Adora— or, to them, Adam spent together, and were _more_ than aware of what they spent most of that time doing. They were endlessly supportive, even after Bow walked in on Adam between Catra’s legs after a strategy meeting. 

(Somehow, that was _less_ embarrassing than the time Glimmer entered their tent without giving them warning first, and had seen Catra with a hand around her throat and Adam’s hips moving hard and fast behind her. 

He’d been wearing a shirt, and since they’d been using his dick, it hadn’t put him at risk. Catra, however, was completely naked, and had been mortified.

Glimmer couldn’t make eye contact with either of them for three days.)

So when Catra had gone to them asking about the best present she could give to him, Glimmer had raised an eyebrow, looked her up and down, and said with a wry smile, “Do you really need to ask?”

Catra had blushed, of course, but there was some truth to it. Bow had followed it instantly with an offended look, and had told her to do something that would be meaningful to Adam: “Or, even better, to both of you.”

She’d thought long and hard, and aside from sex (which was almost a given at this point, especially considering how little daylight and how little warmth they had in the winter), she’d come up with something she thought would get the job done. 

It had taken her a while to find the right craftsman in the city for it, but after Catra went to Bow and Glimmer, they’d shared a look before telling her the name Paul Revere. He was a silversmith, apparently, and a fairly decent one if his client base was anything to go by. 

She’d had him make two matching rings. They were simple, because she couldn’t afford much else, but they were strong. They would last. That was the most important thing for her. 

Given the letter Charles had sent her early on, it would be a while yet before his ship was to leave England, much less return. 

(Still, she couldn’t get the fact of his return out of her mind. 

She knew that no matter how good she and Adora were, their relationship couldn’t last. The rings were a gift, yes, but they were so much more: they were Catra begging Adora not to forget what they werewhile at the same time telling her that she wouldn’t, either. 

She supposed that, in many ways, they were a promise.)

Catra pushed the thoughts from her mind with a deep, contented exhale. 

With a small hum, she shifted in Adora’s arms a little. She reached a hand up to gently move a strand of hair out of her face before letting it rest on the side of it. A small smile crept onto Adora’s face at the feeling, even in her sleep. “Happy birthday, Adora,” Catra said softly, knowing only she could hear it. 

It took them a while to actually get out of bed, especially considering how cold it was outside, but eventually they were able to muster the strength. Before Adora could put her hair up, Catra pulled her in for a brief, deep kiss. When she pulled away, Adora’s eyes were a little wide. “What was that for?”

“It’s your birthday.” Catra smiled. “And I just… felt like it.” It wasn’t her fault Adora looked so damn good in her uniform. “Go, Captain. I’ll be in the strategy tent in a moment.”

As soon as Adora left the tent, back already straightened and voice already lowering as she transitioned from a sleepy Adora to Rebellion Captain Adam Fairchild, Catra began running through the list in her mind of what needed to be done. 

_Rings_ , she thought, glancing to the pocket of her coat. _Check._

Her gaze turned to the bed. _Sex,_ she thought with a small blush. She’d noticed a bulge in Adam’s trousers when he left that meant he was packing hard. _Check._

_Candles,_ she thought with a small frown. They had been somewhat hard to come by recently, but she figured she could always use the one in the inn’s window. There wasn’t much of a need for it anymore, what with Charles being gone, but still. 

The idea of moving it made Catra a little antsy, so she figured that one could stay put. They had enough left in the tent to work with, and she could always Glimmer to help her find more.

That was it, she supposed. She began to make her way to the strategy tent. 

Catra was very reliant on a good routine, and on the day when she stayed in the encampment, she often took a few extra moments to savor the bite of the winter air (snugly wrapped up in furs and a deep red shawl that Adam had requested be made for her) before walking lazily to the tent. 

She knew how the meeting would go, and knew (unfortunately) exactly how long it would run. 

Especially considering she’d been told a few days prior not to miss it, she gathered it was likely an important one. That meant it would be no less than three or four hours, and it was already getting close to noon. 

Normally, during their smaller meetings, it would consist of Micah laying out the day’s plans with Glimmer standing tall (well, as tall as she could, anyway) by his side. 

She and Bow would stare lovingly at each other for the course of the meeting until an officer came by with a problem that Bow needed to fix or an injury that required sudden attention, and then it would be her and Adam left to brainstorm what to do about the rise in British military activity. 

(Speaking of the British military, its presence had begun to increase rapidly in recent months. It didn’t bode well. The whole town knew whatever was going to happen would happen soon.

This was only proven truer when a letter from other local spies came in about the British getting wind of local militias in the area. There were two towns nearby mentioned by name — Lexington and Concord, if she remembered correctly — as well as numerous others alluded to. It wasn’t a good sign.)

Today, Catra walked into the tent to see men she didn’t know around the table. There were several of them, she noticed, and more than a few were in British army uniforms. She felt her hackles rising before realizing the purpose of the meeting: espionage. Given the fact that Micah was listening to them speak and not pulling out his pistol, they were likely allies.

Interestingly enough, she saw Paul Revere in the corner, remembering him from their recent interaction, but he was the only one she recognized. The rest were unfamiliar. He dipped his head to her in greeting, and she nodded back. 

_That would explain how quickly Bow and Glimmer recommended him_ , she thought idly, moving over to where Adam was leaning over the table.

“—which is why we need—” Adam, who was in the middle of speaking when she walked in, cut off abruptly when he saw her, and she could see relief evident on his face. “Cat— _Mrs. Fairchild_ ,” He corrected. “Good. Perfect timing.”

“And why is that, Captain?” She asked idly, looking the newcomers up and down.

“These are some of our most valuable operatives,” Adam explained. “Meet Paul Revere,” He said, gesturing to where he sat in the corner, “And William Heath.” He nodded toward an older-looking man standing with his arms crossed. “Revere runs most of our intelligence operations in the city, and Brigadier General Heath is to be in charge of training the Massachusetts militia.”

“Well, Mr. Revere and I have met,” Catra said lightly, bowing her head a little out of respect. “But I had no idea we’d be in such esteemed company. It’s a pleasure, gentlemen.” 

Heath raised an eyebrow at her, eyes lingering on the lack of a ring on her finger. She’d long since taken off the one Charles had given her, but it had left a slight band of lighter skin where it once sat. To one accustomed to looking for it, she imagined her situation would seem obvious. 

“Fairchild,” He said, looking between them, “Is that Fairchild as in the wife of the captain?”

Before Adam could blush and splutter out an awkward explanation of code names and marriages, Catra replied, Yes.” Her voice was smooth and succinct in a way that left no room for debate. From the corner of her eye she could see Adam’s gaze snap over to her in awe. She turned to meet it with a simple smile. 

Catra rested a hand on his thigh, and he seemed to visibly relax even as the muscles under her hands jumped a little. 

The hours ticked by so slowly Catra thought watching paint dry would have been more entertaining. 

While she was able to contribute her experience and knowledge during the espionage portion of the discussion — one that only lasted a few minutes before it was derailed by one of the officers asking a question so stupid she thought for a moment she was in hell — she wasn’t particularly interested in the rationing of bullets to militiamen in Philadelphia. 

In other words, Catra got bored after the first few hours of the meeting, and the hand resting on Adam’s thigh began to wander. 

His eyes flicked down when she started scratching her nails idly down the top of it, feeling the long line of his muscles under her hand, and he let out an exhale that was only the slightest bit shaky.

Adam looked over to her with a slight warning in his eyes, and she raised an eyebrow and nodded in mock surrender. Her hand stilled, but only for a moment. 

Adam practically jumped out of his seat when she pressed her fingers into the line of his cock where it sat against his thigh. “Catra,” He hissed quietly, clearly trying not to react too much. “What if someone sees?”

Revere and Heath were engaged in a quiet conversation about something in the corner while Micah and Bow discussed rationing, so Catra thought she could get away with leaning over a little more than she otherwise would have. 

“They won’t if you’re quiet,” Catra murmured into his ear, hearing his breath hitch at the words. She pulled back a bit, searching his eyes to see if what she was asking was okay, and found permission in his nod. 

Their lower halves were hidden by the edge of the table, so when Catra slid her hand over the bulge in Adam’s pants, she was sure it wouldn’t be seen. He blinked rapidly at the feeling, clearly still trying to concentrate on what was happening in front of them.

It didn’t seem particularly interesting — something about Congress’ failure to deliver money — so Catra continued. She pressed it a little deeper into Adam’s thigh as her hand pushed it back against him gently, and felt him exhale sharply at the feeling of it. 

“Something wrong, Captain?” Micah asked across the table, raising an eyebrow. 

Catra began to move her hand away, but Adam’s hand flew to her wrist to keep her in place. Trying to hide a smug grin, she watched Adam swallow. “Not at all, sir. My apologies,” He said, looking over to Catra almost against his will. “Please continue.”

Micah nodded, resuming the discussion of funds, and Catra’s hand tightened gently around the line of wood pressing through the fabric until it was wrapped around it as best as she could manage. 

Adam swallowed hard again, realizing suddenly what she was going to do, and nodded a few times, making eye contact as he did. 

Catra felt satisfaction and a low, fiery kind of adrenaline run through her. There was something dangerous about doing this in public, something that was equal parts terrifying and completely exhilarating. 

Given the tightness in Adam’s jaw and his desperate efforts at trying to control his pulse, he felt the same way. 

She began to pump the shaft of his cock slowly, making sure to press the base of it back against him with every thrust. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, clearly trying to stifle all reactions, but somehow that made it even more rewarding. 

With her hand on the inside of his thigh, Catra jerked him off almost lazily, going teasingly slow in a way she knew would drive him up the wall. 

One particularly solid pump of her hand had Adam’s hips jerking up against her, and he had to clear his throat loudly to keep down the whine in the back of his throat. 

Catra knew Adam’s body well enough by now to know when he was close to letting go. 

It always started with his breathing: it would speed up, usually blinking rapidly as his eyes started to flutter closed, and it would be followed almost instantly by the veins and tendons in his neck going suddenly taut and a few deep, shaky breaths before the rest of his body tensed with his orgasm. 

So now, after several more long, almost achingly slow minutes of feeling his cock under her hand, Catra felt more than saw his breathing change. 

His jaw tightened a little more, clearly trying hard to keep himself under control, but when she saw his chest begin to heave a little and watched his eyes fall closed for a moment she knew he was getting closer and closer by the second. 

Catra would have been more than happy watching him try and control himself in the middle of an orgasm, but she was denied that chance by Micah clapping loudly at the other end of the table. “Excellent work, ladies and gentlemen. You’re dismissed.” 

As the people around them began to stand again and walk around, Adam’s eyes flew open, and Catra’s hand flew out of his lap. He was breathing heavy, and when his eyes met hers they were wide and dark with his arousal. 

It took a moment for him to find his voice, and it came out low and half-ragged. “Mrs. Fairchild, I need to speak with you in my tent,” Adam said under his breath, swallowing hard. “ _Now_.”

Catra felt the heat coiling in her pulse a little bit at the tone of the word, and she nodded. “Of course, Captain,” She said breathlessly, hoping no one else was around to hear the edge of need in her voice. “I’ll be right there.”

Adam nodded. His eyes stayed on her. “Micah,” He said, clearing his throat, “If anyone needs something from me tonight, redirect them to my lieutenant.”

The casual display of authority in his voice made Catra’s knees a little weak, and she found her mouth was suddenly very dry.

Micah’s eyes flicked between them, and he let out a small sigh. There wasn’t anything else that needed to be done that day, and the sun was starting to set. “Of course, Captain. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

They were both silent all the way back to the tent, and when the tent flaps finally closed, he turned to her before taking off his tricorn and letting his hair fall loose. 

“Are you going to finish what you started?” Adora asked in a low, rough voice that made Catra want to drop to her knees then and there. 

“Fuck,” She breathed. “Yes, Captain.” Catra was alwaysmindful of people around them listening in, so they’d realized early that the title seemed a good way to assuage any concern about Adora’s true identity. 

It had the intended effect of making Adora’s eyes widen as she swallowed hard. “Good.” She pulled her coat off, letting it fall to the ground in a heap before she said, “Turn around.”

Catra did, trying to control how fast her heart was racing, and felt nimble, strong fingers undoing the straps of her dress a second later. She shrugged it off her shoulders before turning back to Adora, who was looking at her without hiding the hunger in her eyes. “On the bed,” Adora said, voice low.

“With respect, Captain,” Catra said, shaking her head a little, “It’s yourbirthday.” She moved forward slowly, swaying her hips slowly in the way she knew Adora liked. “So lie down and let me give you your present.”

Adora’s eyes widened as Catra started unbuttoning her pants, and she swallowed thickly. “You don’t— you don’t want me to be in charge tonight?” It was a dynamic Catra thoroughly enjoyed, no doubt about that, but tonight wasn’t about her. 

“No,” Catra said simply, leaning in to start kissing her neck. She nipped gently at the taut skin there, feeling Adora’s breath hitch. “Tonight, I want to take care of you.” When Adora’s pants were undone, she reached down to take the length in her hand. “Now, are you going to be good and lie down for me?”

Swallowing down a soft noise of pleasure, Adora nodded lazily. She was a little too lost in the feeling of Catra’s lips on her neck and the gentle pressure on her clit to be fully present, and when both vanished suddenly, she let out a small whine. Her eyes fluttered open again, and Catra could see how dark they were already. 

Catra put a hand on Adora’s chest and began to push her gently towards the bed, where the pillows were already arranged against the makeshift headboard. Adora’s eyes were locked on her face, swallowing hard with the anticipation of it, and her knees hit the back of the bed. She fell gently into a seated position, her dick standing full at attention, and it gave Catra an idea.

It was warm enough already in the tent for her to tug her shift off, leaving her completely naked. Catra would have been lying if she said she didn’t show off a little, arching her back to push her chest towards Adora. 

Every time Adora saw her naked, it took her a few minutes to regain full consciousness. This time was no different.

Adora’s eyes widened, just as planned, and her hands twitched by her sides. Catra reached a hand down to move one of Adora’s own until it was resting on her side just under one of her breasts. 

“C-- Fuck,” Adora breathed, eyes locked firmly on Catra’s chest. “Can I--”

“Yes. Fuck, please,” Catra nodded, in a voice lower than usual, leaning into it a little more as she took a step forward. She leaned down to kiss Adora, putting a hand on her jaw as their lips met. “I want you to touch me.”

Adora did. The hand on Catra’s side moved instantly to her breasts, running over them almost reverently before she began to gently squeeze them. She palmed her nipples, hearing Catra’s breathing hitch at the feeling, before pulling her closer until Catra was pressed almost all the way to Adora’s front. 

Catra put a hand on her chest, and Adora’s movements stopped instantly. “Remember what I said? Lie down.”

Scrambling back, Adora followed suit. She leaned against the makeshift bed frame in an upright position, watching Catra with poorly-hidden desire.

Walking over slowly to her, Catra climbed onto the bed and straddled her torso before pulling Adora in for a soft, loving kiss. “You,” She said breathlessly in between kisses, “without a doubt, are the best thing ever to happen to me.”

Catra pressed a line of kisses down Adora’s jaw until she was back at her neck, and began to suck marks into it gently, feeling Adora’s pulse flutter under her. “You’re kind,” She said, running her tongue over the bruise already forming there. 

“You’re strong.” She ran her hands up under Adora’s shirt, feeling the smooth, firm muscle there. 

“And you’re so, so handsome.” Lifting her hips and moving back, Catra positioned herself over the length jutting out from Adora’s hips. 

The idea she’d had earlier flickered in her mind, and she narrowed her eyes a bit. Rather than lower herself onto Adora’s cock, she moved until her lower lips were just barely touching the base of it. She knew she was wet enough to do what she had in mind, and was proven correct a second later. 

Catra put a hand on Adora’s chest over the shirt and the bindings there to steady herself before she began dragging herself almost rhythmically up and down Adora’s cock. 

Adora gasped audibly as she watched it happen, and Catra brought her hands up to touch her breasts again. “You’re-- _fuck_ ,” Catra groaned, head falling back a bit as the wood brushed her clit, “You’re so fucking good.” 

As the words washed over, Adora let out a shaky breath. The feeling of having Catra almost as close as she very, _very_ badly needed her was unbearable. “Fuck. I-I need you, Catra.” Her voice came out strained, and the hint of desperation was more than clear.

Catra leaned in to kiss her again, stopping the movement of her hips for a moment as she did. This kiss was deeper and a little messier than the others had been, and a thin trail of spit connected their mouths when Catra pulled away. 

“Then you have me,” Catra said, swallowing hard. She lifted her hips again and slowly, teasingly slowly, began to sink down onto Adora’s now-wet cock. The stretch of it burned a little in the best way possible, and she let out a gasp as she felt the head inside her. “ _Fuck_. You have me.”

Adora let out a strangled groan watching Catra every inch of her one by one, and let out a shaky exhale before she said, “Fuck. God, I-I love you so much.”

Catra’s hips met Adora’s as she took the rest of her cock inside her, and she let out a ragged gasp at the feeling of being so full. “I know you do. I love you back.” 

Catra rolled her hips once, experimentally, and watched with satisfaction as Adora’s head fell back with a groan at the relief of pressure and friction against her as well as the sight of Catra on top of her. 

God, she was a sight to behold. Her lips were already wet and slightly parted, and with every movement of the length inside her she let out a small gasp. Her hands were resting under Adora’s shirt, and she felt them tighten around her torso as she started moving her hips in earnest. 

“You’re— fuck—” Catra cut off with a small whine as Adora hit a new spot inside her. “Fuck. You’re the love of my life. I-I want to remember every second we spend together.”

Adora could already feel herself beginning to tense up. She’d been close in the tent, and that was just from Catra’s hand. 

And, God, _now_? With Catra throwing her head back in pleasure as a dark blush started to creep over her skin, Adora could feel her orgasm building and boiling inside her within minutes.

From what she could see, Catra was in a similar state. 

Her head was thrown back from the feeling of Adora so deep inside her, and her movements were only speeding up. “God, _fuck_ ,” She whined, feeling Adora slide her hand up her body to start gently pulling at her nipples. “Fuck. I love you,” She said, half-desperate. “I love you.”

The pressure and movement against her was almost too much for Adora to bear, and she felt her hips jerking up as her walls began to tighten around nothing. “I love you too,” She groaned, voice straining a little as her body began to tense. “So much.”

Catra’s eyes were half-lidded, and fell closed as she arched up into Adora’s touch even more. “Fuck,” She gasped, feeling Adora’s touch spreading over her like fire. “Show me.”

Adora did. 

Her orgasm took her almost by surprise, and she felt her eyes close as she tensed up, mouth falling open with a low, guttural groan. She saw white for a second, thrusting up jerkily before hearing Catra let out a whining, breathy noise as her orgasm hit her soon after. 

Still shaking from her orgasm, Adora reached up to put a hand on the back of Catra’s head and pressed their foreheads together. She felt sweat mingle with tears on her face. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Catra said, panting. The aftershocks were still coursing through her, and she rolled her hips a few more times to help Adora through her own. “I know. I love you too.” 

With another pant, Catra smiled. “Happy birthday.”

Adora helped her slide gently off her cock before undoing the harness straps and throwing it onto one of the furs on the floor. “Fuck. That was a hell of a present,” She groaned, repositioning them so Catra’s head was on her chest. 

“About that,” Catra said with another small smile, “I have something else for you. For us, really.” She patted Adora’s chest affectionately before standing. She walked across the tent, and as Adora propped herself up to watch Catra’s hips sway, she felt a confused expression take over her face. 

Catra rifled gently through a pocket of her coat for a moment before she came back with a simple, but neatly carved wooden box. She fingered it for a moment before handing it over to Adora. There was a small latch on one side. 

“Open it,” Catra said almost nervously, sliding back in next to her.

Nimble fingers moved to open the latch, and Adora opened the box’s lid to reveal two small, matching rings of silver. Her eyes widened. “Catra, are these—”

“To remember each other by.” Catra’s voice was uncharacteristically vulnerable. “When our time runs out.”

Adora let out a shaky exhale and turned towards her. “You’d risk that? What if Charles—” 

“Please,” Catra shook her head. “Don’t say his name.”

“But—”

“Adora, I’d risk anything for you. You should know that by now.” Catra put a hand over hers. “Put it on? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

Adora pressed a kiss to Catra’s forehead before she slid the larger of the two onto her left ring finger. It was a perfect fit, of course. She expected no less. 

She lifted her hand a bit to watch it glint in the candlelight, and thought for a moment that the orange glow made it look like fire made solid. “I don’t know how to thank you,” Adora said quietly. “This is…” She shook her head. “This is more than I thought I’d ever have.” Her voice was soft, almost reverent, and it made Catra’s heart ache.

Catra exhaled slowly. “Well,” She said carefully, “you have it. You have _me_. Now and always.”

Adora turned to her with shining eyes. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“This is my choice. I’m giving it freely,” Catra said with a small smile. She put a hand on Adora’s face and felt her lean into it. “I’m yours. You’re mine.” She picked up the other ring and slid it onto her own finger. “Besides, your soldiers have been calling me _Mrs. Fairchild_ since the first time I came here. Might as well make it official, right?”

That got a wet, teary chuckle from Adora. She nodded in agreement before bringing Catra in for a kiss. “I love you,” Adora said again. “I love you so much. I never want to leave you.”

“I know.” Catra closed her eyes. “I never want you to.”

It was, of course, impossible. They both knew that. But in that moment, with the snow falling on the roof of the tent in gentle waves and the flickering candle bathing them both in soft, warm light, it was all either of them needed to hear. 

*** * ***

February went by quickly, as was its custom, and the ides of March rang through the city like a bell tolling for the dead. 

If tensions were high in January, it was nothing compared to what Boston had become by early spring. Adora was barely able to get in from the sheer, staggering number of Redcoats slinking through the streets, and Catra was finding it harder and harder to slip away. 

When the letter arrived, Catra felt the freedom she’d been so enamored with begin to ebb. In its place, grief and despair mingled in equal measure. 

_To my wife,_ it read, _Mrs. Charles Monroe._

Catra’s hands tightened as she read the paper. There it was in black and white: even after months apart, separated by time and an ocean, she was still his. 

She skimmed the letter quickly. There were a few half-hearted, almost biting remarks about how he hoped to find her in good health upon his return, and then: 

_These last months have been equal parts torturous and rapturous, my love. I have received my commission and have gained control of a battalion, and my company departs in less than two weeks’ time._

_If luck and wind prevail, you’ll be in my arms by mid-April._

Catra did the math in her head. The date on the letter meant his ship had already left, but she still had time. 

“Scorpia,” She called, hearing her voice ring dimly in the near-empty tavern, “Can you handle the bar for a few hours?”

Scorpia had been refilling a barrel of ale, but she poked her head out. “‘Course. You’re going out on…” She cleared her throat and gave an attempt at a conspiratorial wink. “...Business, right?”

“That’s right.” Catra stuffed the letter in her pocket and slung her apron over the bar. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Stepping more fully into Catra’s line of sight, Scorpia nodded. “No problem. Is that… from Charles?” She asked carefully, eyes flicking down to the ring on Catra’s finger. 

Her jaw pulsed at the mention of his name, and her hands tightened around the paper. “It is. Why?”

“Oh, no reason, I just—” Scorpia let out an exhale. “You’ve been so happy the last few months. I, um… I’m sorry it’s coming to an end.” Her words were soft, and there were many more left unsaid. Scorpia put a hand on Catra’s shoulder. “If you ever need or want me to cover for you while he’s away on business, or anything like that, I’m here.”

Catra found herself blinking back tears. 

Scorpia had been nothing but kind and understanding to her, and yet Catra still kept her at arms’ length. _Maybe I can change that now,_ she thought. Catra nodded before putting a hand on Scorpia’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but it was a start. “Thank you,” She said, barely above a whisper. “That means a lot.”

Scorpia gave her a small, half-awed smile, still staring at where Catra’s hand was on her arm. “Anytime, wildcat.” 

The nickname made Catra smile a little. 

When they’d first met years ago, they’d both been barely seventeen. Scorpia was brand new to Boston, having just arrived in the city from one of the Southern colonies, and Catra was recently (and deeply unhappily) married. 

Scorpia had come in for a drink and had four instead, and she’d thought the fact that an inn called _The_ _Cat’s Cradle_ was run by _Catra_ was so funny she’d nearly thrown up from how hard she’d laughed. She’d called her ‘wildcat’ as a joke, and it had stuck.

At the time, Catra had wanted to kill her. Now, she just smiled at the memory and nodded. “I’ll be gone a few hours. Don’t burn the inn down,” She said, the hint of a joke in her tone.

As soon as she stepped outside, the chill of the wind hit her. March wasn’t a particularly warm month in Boston, and she was sure the time of day (late afternoon, with the sun starting to sink into the horizon) didn’t help, but still. 

Catra pulled her shawl around her a little tighter and began to make the now-familiar walk to the encampment. 

She was dreading it now more than she usually did, mainly because of what she would have to tell Adora, but she was determined not to let it sour their mood. If they only had a few weeks left together, so be it. Catra would spend every second wrapped up in Adora’s arms. 

Catra could tell something was wrong the moment she stepped foot in camp. 

There was a buzz of energy that it normally lacked, and she knew it could only mean trouble. As she scanned the activity, she ran through a quick checklist in her mind. 

Although she saw man after man scuttling across the camp for weapons and clothes, there weren’t any on stretchers. That was good, she thought. It meant there was no chance of Adora being wounded. 

Speaking of clothes and weapons, men seemed to be gearing up and not taking anything off. Her eyes narrowed a little as she began to make her way to the strategy tent where Adora — currently Adam, she reminded herself — would no doubt be managing things. 

As far as Catra remembered, there hadn’t been any discussion of Rebellion activity for today. So why now? What was so important?

She gathered her skirts to avoid the mud as she moved through row after row of tents and fires, finally making it to the strategy tent. 

Sure enough, Adam was inside giving orders to a small group of officers. “—and move as many of them as you can to Charlestown,” He said. “But leave enough supplies for the minutemen to work with. If Concord is raided, we still need them to be able to defend themselves.”

Catra tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine at the low, commanding tone of his voice. Given the urgency of the situation, it was a _terrible_ time to remember their nights together, but she couldn’t quite help herself from remembering how much they’d both enjoyed it when he told her what to do.

The men gave Adam an affirmative in response, saluting him, and he nodded. “Dismissed, gentlemen.” 

As the officers began to file out into the camp, no doubt preparing to gather groups of men, Adam noticed her in the doorway. “Catra,” He said. A small smile appeared on his face, followed by a flicker of a concerned frown. “I didn’t expect you until later. Is everything—”

Catra held up the letter, stepping into the tent. “It’s Charles,” She said quietly, clearing her throat a little. She looked at the ground. She knew Adam’s face had just shattered above her, and she couldn’t bear to see it happen. 

“His ship will return in early April. But, um. He’s bringing a battalion,” She said, pushing past the sudden lump in her throat. Something about saying out loud made it seem so much more real. 

There was a stray piece of fabric on the ground that she stared at, trying desperately to focus on anything other than her situation.

Adam swallowed hard, and nodded above her. It took him a few tries to get the words out. “Catra, I... this isn’t the end,” He said softly, though there was a new thickness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment prior. “Not for us.”

“Do you mean that?” Catra’s voice was hoarse, and had begun to take on a raw edge. “Promise me.”

Adam closed the distance between them, and took her left hand in his own before raising it slowly to his lips. He pressed a kiss to where her ring sat on her finger, shutting his eyes tightly as a tear slipped out. Catra watched it roll down his face. 

Adam had just opened his mouth to speak when the tent flaps opened for Bow, and he used his other hand to hastily wipe the tear away. “Captain,” Bow said haltingly, taking in the scene in front of him with wide eyes. “Apologies. I don’t mean to interrupt, but your regiment is ready for you.”

He nodded, eyes downcast. “Tell them I’ll be with them in a moment.” Bow nodded, leaving again, and Adam shook his head a little. “I’m sorry, Catra, I-I have to go. We need to move some of what’s stored in Concord to other towns.”

Catra heard the thickness in his voice grow, and decided not to comment. “Go,” She said softly. “I’ll be here.”

“We won’t be back until the early morning,” Adam said quietly. “I know you have to get back to the inn.”

“Will you meet me there, then?” Catra asked. “I don’t mind staying up.”

After a beat, Adam nodded. “I will as soon as I’m able.” He gnawed at the inside of his lip for a moment. “Catra, listen,” He said. “We both know the Rebellion and the Crown are reaching a breaking point. I… need you to prepare for the possibility that—” His voice broke off a little, and he swallowed thickly. “That I don’t come back from one of these missions.”

Catra’s eyes widened, and she shook her head furiously. She put a hand on the side of his cheek, watching the wary, tired look in his eyes soften. “Don’t say that. Adam, that’s not going to happen to us—”

“If it does,” He said, ignoring her words, “I want— I _need_ you to know that I love you. Now and always.” With the echo of her words, Adam tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

The idea of losing him made her feel sick. It always did. Just like every other time she’d confronted it, she pushed the thoughts of his death away from her mind. “You said you wouldn’t leave me, remember?”

“I do.” Adam nodded, bringing a hand up to cover Catra’s own where it sat against his cheek. “Of course I remember. I never want to leave you,” He said firmly. “But if it’s going to be war, my love... I can’t be naive.”

(In that instant, Catra saw a future for the two of them. 

In it, there was no war. There were no blood-stained uniforms or dark red coats in sight. All she saw was herself, carefully polishing the bar. On her hand was one of the silver rings she’d made for them. 

After a moment, Adam would appear, having just mixed a fresh batch of ale in the cellar. 

_I think I got it right this time,_ he would say with a toothy, proud grin. _I followed your instructions to the letter_.

In this future, she would roll her eyes good-naturedly. _That’s what you said last time._

_But this time it’s true_ , he’d reply. With a smile, Adam would come over and press a kiss to her forehead. _Come down when you can?_

Catra saw herself smile back and nod at him. _Of course._

She realized, more clearly now than ever before, what she wanted wasn’t a soldier to be proud of. The medals, the uniform, none of it mattered to her: all Catra wanted was someone to come home to.)

“You don’t have to fight it,” Catra insisted, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “There are plenty of other people who will do that.” She searched his face desperately, hoping he understood what she left unspoken: _you don’t have to leave me_. _Please stay._

The light inside the tent changed as Bow poked his head in again. “Captain, are you coming?”

Adam’s eyes flicked over to him, and his jaw tightened hard. “I have to,” He said quietly, avoiding Catra’s gaze. “We’ll talk tonight, my love.” There was grief in his voice, but resolve covered it in a layer of steel. 

Catra felt as though she’d been slapped. Clenching her jaw tight to control the anger she felt rising up, she nodded stiffly. “Fine,” She said tightly, almost spitting the words out. “We’ll talk. Don’t get killed.” Without another word and without looking back, she turned and walked out of the tent.

She left Charles’ letter on the table, and if she had turned around, she would’ve seen how Adam’s hands shook when he reached for it, how his face twisted with anger as he read through the lines, and how he only barely restrained himself from tearing it to pieces.

Most of all, she would have seen him turn his sorrow, his anger, his grief to steel and shove it down as he left the tent, already assuming command for the night. 

*** * ***

Adora didn’t climb into the window until hours later, hair hanging loose around her face and hat nowhere to be found, and when she did it was with a limp and with mud and grime caked all over her. 

Catra had been there for a while now, thumbing distractedly through a book while she waited for her to come through, but it slipped out of her hands when she saw the blood dripping down Adora’s arm. 

Noticing the way her eyes widened, Adora offered Catra a weak smile. “It’s nothing,” She said, with only a slight strain to her voice. “There was a patrol that took its rounds a few minutes earlier than we expected, but I’m alright—”

“Come here,” Catra said, feeling her anger melt away as concern replaced it. She patted the bed. “Sit down, and take off your clothes,” She said, rolling her eyes when Adora blushed. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m going to clean it off. Can’t have it getting infected, can we?”

There was a needle and thread in the drawer that Catra pulled out, and she was gone for a few moments before she came back with a small bowl of clean water and a towel. Adora had listened to her, and her coat and shirt were folded neatly on the bed next to her when Catra came back. Adora sat on the bed in just her bandages looking smaller than Catra had ever seen her.

Catra sat next to her on the side of her wound, avoiding eye contact. She winced a little when she saw the extent of it, and ran an only somewhat-practiced eye over it. “It’s not bad,” She said, “But it’s deep, and… it’ll probably scar.” She began cleaning the wound and the area around it, feeling Adora wince beneath her at the sting.

Adora shrugged at her words. “I’ve had worse.”

“What did this to you?” Catra asked, reaching for the needle and thread. “Did a bullet graze you?”

“A knife,” Adora corrected. “Or, a bayonet, I suppose. I wasn’t as good at dodging it this time.”

“You’ve never been good at dodging them,” Catra said, eyes flicking to the still-healing scar on Adora’s face. She met shining blue eyes that were watching her intently. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t want to fight,” Adora said quietly. “I hate fighting with you. But I—I need to do this, Catra.”

Catra’s hands stilled momentarily where they were threading the needle. “I know,” She replied, barely above a whisper. “But I don’t have to like it.”

They fell into a silence after that, one that prompted neither of them to speak to fill it. To Catra, at least, it didn’t seem as though there was much either could say. 

She began to slowly, carefully stitch up the wound on Adora’s arm. Catra wasn’t a doctor, true, but since she’d seen her fair share of wounds in her time with Charles, she had become more than adept at fixing them. If she was being honest, doing it for Adora was much easier than doing it for herself.

Adora flinched at the feeling of the needle and thread pulling and poking at her so close to her wound, but she stayed still as she could manage. Catra was sure her other hand was gripping the bedpost so tightly it would snap off.

Finally, she finished, and tied a neat knot in the thread after pulling the wound closed. “All done,” Catra said, clearing her throat. Her voice was somewhat shaky.

Adora let out a shaky, pained exhale. “Thank you.” She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you… want me to leave?”

“No,” Catra said before she could think about it. “No. I don’t.”

Adora nodded, scooting a little closer. She stared at a spot on the wall, and Catra followed her gaze to see a section of paint near the floor that had worn away. “Catra, I can’t abandon the Rebellion. I have to fight for them.”

“Do you _have_ to?” Catra asked quietly. She could see wood under the paint. “Forever?”

Adora’s jaw pulsed. “I don’t know how long forever is going to be.”

The hollow tone of her voice made Catra turn her head. It was no secret how well-acquainted Adora was with death, but to hear it coming from her own mouth was something different. 

Catra looked inward for a moment. 

She felt her rage at being left behind earlier, at being treated as though she was a distraction from Adora’s duty and not someone worthy of her time. The idea made her blood boil all over again, and this time she let it. Catra sat there for a moment feeling all of the anger all at once— and then slowly, methodically, she let it go. 

Not fully, of course. Catra had the feeling it would be something that stayed with her. But she figured she had the rest of her life to be angry about it. 

She _didn’t_ have much more time to be with the woman she loved. Charles would return in a few weeks, and beyond that nothing was certain.

Catra put her hand on Adora’s and said, “Then let’s not think about it,” She said quietly, letting out a deep sigh. “I won’t apologize for getting angry, and I won’t take back what I said about you letting go of the war. But I love you,” She said, lifting Adora’s hand. She pressed a soft kiss to the ring. “And we don’t have much time left together.”

The reminder made Adora wince a little. “Do we have to talk about that right now?”

“No,” Catra said softly. “No, we don’t.”

Adora was quiet for a few moments. “I hate thinking about you with his child. I know it’s not my place, but I-I _hate_ it.” Her voice was still low, barely above a whisper, but it ran thick with anger and grief. “And when I think about losing what we have, I—” She shook her head. “I can’t bear it.”

“That makes two of us,” Catra said after a beat. “I’m still trying to find a way out of it.”

“I could always just kill him,” Adora offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Macabre as it was, the suggestion made Catra smile a little. “Neither of us would. But with Boston as it is, you’d be hung for it.” The smile slipped off her face. “We can’t have that.”

“No, I suppose not,” Adora sighed. She scooted closer to Catra, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into her side. Catra’s hand snaked around her back, and she rested her head against Adora’s shoulder. “Consider it a standing offer.”

Catra smiled, and leaned back until she could see Adora’s face. “I love you,” She said simply. “I think I always will.”

“What a coincidence,” Adora said, smiling back. “I love you too.” She leaned forward, putting a hand gently on Catra’s cheek, and kissed her softly, feeling Catra smile against her. 

“Stay the night?” Catra asked quietly, pulling away just far enough to ask.

Adora thought for a moment. “Alright,” She said, nodding a few times. “I think I’d pass out if I tried making it back to camp anyway.” It was a weak attempt at humor given the bags under her eyes and the tired, weary slump of her body, but it made Catra smile anyway. 

That night wasn’t the first time Catra stayed up watching Adora’s chest rise and fall gently in her sleep, but it was the longest. 

She couldn’t sleep for hours. 

It was as though the two of them had been living a dream, and reality had suddenly come crashing back down. Actually, she supposed, watching Adora shift in her sleep as she moved closer to Catra, that’s exactly what happened. 

And yet still, even with the threat of her husband’s return and the idea of beginning a family with him, Catra couldn’t bring herself to regret her decision. 

_How can this be doom,_ Catra asked herself, _when she looks like that?_

Moonlight bounced gently off of Adora’s face, bathing her in cool light. For once, she looked almost serene. Her hair was spread around her head like a halo, and Catra knew in a second that if she was given the choice to go back and change things, she would damn them both all over again.

*** * ***

The middle of April brought rain to Catra’s life, and the grey, cloudy skies grew more and more appropriate every day.

For example, Charles returned a day before a thunderstorm hit the city. It was early in the season for it, but somehow Catra wasn’t surprised at all at the timing. 

If she was being honest, she thought she was going to cry when she saw him for the first time, but all she felt when he walked back into the inn in a stiff, starchy red jacket was cold. 

“My love,” Catra said, hearing the hollow underside of her voice, “You’ve returned.”

“I have,” Charles said. A cruel smile split his face apart, and when he grinned at her it almost felt as though he was baring his teeth. “You look as beautiful as the day I left, my darling wife. Have you missed me?”

“Terribly.” She hoped it was a convincing lie. Judging by the glow of pride that overtook him, she figured it was good enough.

Charles made his way toward the bar before leaning over. It was the closest he’d been to her in, well, months, and Catra found herself stiffening. “I’ve been thinking about you. About starting our family,” He said, right into her ear. 

Hearing his voice so close to her sent a cold, icy chill down her spine. The implication, which hit her half a second later, gave her the same feeling as going to take the last step of a staircase and before realizing it isn’t there. She was in free-fall.

Catra cleared her throat. “Me too, my darling,” She said, forcing a smile onto her face. “Day and night.” This was technically true, though she figured their statements had opposite qualities to them. He idolized the idea. She dreaded it. 

“Well, I’m afraid we can’t begin too soon,” He said, leaning back a little. He studied her face. “The general received word a few days ago that we’re to imprison and disarm the leaders of that desperate Rebellion, so I’ll be rather busy.”

Catra blinked, hoping her face didn’t go white as the blood drained from it. “What?”

“Oh, yes,” Charles said, a flicker of a sneer appearing on his face. “You haven’t heard? They’re to be rounded up and kept prisoner.”

The part of Catra’s brain not consumed with devastating worry nodded jerkily. “Right. That’s— that’s wonderful.”

“You don’t seem convinced.” There was an implication there that scared her, but he brushed past it as though he hadn’t said anything. “Regardless, I have no doubt things will come to a head soon enough.”

“What does that mean?” Catra asked, already dreading the answer. “Are you… going to attack them outright?”

Charles shrugged, pouring himself a mug of ale and taking a long drink. “The Crown gave us a fair amount of… shall we say, _discretion_ in our actions,” He said, lips curling up in a cruel smirk. “Between us, there was a patrol sent out this morning that intercepted a few messengers on horseback out in the country. The general thinks they’re storing weapons out there. I imagine we’ll send a company out tonight.”

“Tonight,” Catra said distantly. “That’s— that’s soon.” She was suddenly _very_ aware of the ring hanging around her neck, as well as the man who made it. The Rebellion had a plan and an alarm system in place in case of attack — one she’d helped to develop, in fact — but they would need the advance warning. It was a risk, but she had to take it. “I don’t suppose you know where your company is to be stationed?”

Charles paused for half a second. “We haven’t received written orders yet, but I’ve heard Concord,” He said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Catra swallowed down the fear in her voice. “I was just wondering.” At Charles’ bored hum, she continued. “I was thinking of going to the market,” Catra said, clearing her throat. “Is there anything you want me to get for you, my love?”

Charles had a sudden look of disinterest on his face. “No,” He said. “I’ll likely dine with my men tonight.”

Catra nodded, already shedding her apron as she moved toward the door. “Right. Um. I might stop by a friend’s house, so I’ll be back in a few hours’ time, if that’s alright—”

“Fine,” Charles said, waving a hand dismissively. “I care not.”

_What a surprise_ , Catra thought, rolling her eyes a little as she left. She was able to control how fast she walked up to the door, but once she was outside, she took off in a dead sprint down the street, dodging pedestrians and barreling towards the edge of the city. 

She made it to the encampment in record time, careening past soldiers and troops until she made it to the doors of the strategy tent and threw them open.

Adam was sitting at the table with a vacant, hollow expression and dark circles under his eyes. He stood bolt upright the second she walked in, his eyes going as wide as saucers. “Catra, what—”

“It’s happening,” She said in a rush, chest heaving from the exertion of running so far. “Tonight. My husband, he— he said they were after the leaders of the Rebellion.”

“Hancock and Adams,” Micah muttered. “They’re in Concord.”

“So are the majority of our weapon stores,” Bow said from the corner, already moving to the tent flaps. “Does Joseph Warren know? He and Revere are the only ones left in Boston. Um,” He paused. “And you, of course, Mrs. Fairchild—”

“You need to warn them,” Catra said hurriedly. “I-I don’t have much time.”

Adam walked over to her in a second and pulled her into a massive, warm hug. She returned it instantly, letting herself get lost in the solid arms around her and the comfort she felt in them for only a second before she extracted herself from them. “We’ll notify our men there,” He said quietly. “And we’ll have more ready if they go to Concord.”

Catra nodded. “And you?” She asked quietly. “What will you do?”

Adam’s jaw tightened. “I’ll have to go with them.”

“Then I’m going with you.” 

His eyes widened in a mix of shock and fear. “No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous—”

“I don’t care,” Catra said. “Charles will be gone anyway, and I want to help. This is just as much my cause as it is yours.” 

It was a good argument, and one that they both knew rang true. She watched the gears spinning in Adam’s head as he tried to figure out the right decision to make. 

“Alright,” He said, nodding tightly a few times. “If you set off on horseback now, you’ll be able to reach Concord before the British do. I’m sure Revere and Warren will do the same, but the more people know, the better.”

“Where will you be?” Catra asked, feeling her heartbeat already picking up inside her. “Your company, I mean?”

Adam looked over to Micah, who was prompted to say, “The forest at the edge of Concord, I believe. We’re sending reinforcements to the militia there in case of attack.”

Catra nodded. “Then I’ll meet you there,” She said resolutely. 

“Be safe,” Adam croaked, putting a hand on the side of her face. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

The use of her words back at her made her smile, and she leaned forward to give him one last kiss. “I won’t, Captain,” She said, pulling away before lifting his hand to kiss the ring there. “This won’t be the last time we see each other.” 

“Promise?” He asked, and she could hear the fear and the desperation in his voice. 

Catra smiled. “I promise.”

*** * ***

Catra rode for hours, feeling the wind hitting her like a whip as her horse galloped at full speed through small towns and countryside. Wherever she could, she warned the townspeople that the British were, in fact, coming, and by the time night fell, she could see two lanterns lit in the steeple of a church. 

_They’re coming by water, then_ , she thought distantly, and kicked her horse’s sides to spur him on. She was close to Lexington, but given the alarm bells she heard already ringing, they were more than aware of what was happening.

Concord was still miles away, and given the moon’s position in the sky, it was well past midnight. 

She wasn’t tired, though. The amount of raw adrenaline flooding her body ensured that. But her horse was, and she knew she’d likely have to rest it for a while when she made it to Concord. 

It was a much longer ride than she’d anticipated, though Catra knew her husband wouldn’t notice given his own business, and the sun was barely beginning to rise again when she finally made it there. 

When she arrived at a hill overlooking the north bridge, all she saw was chaos. There were lines of Redcoats, covered in mud and grime from the long march there, engaged in combat with scattered companies of Rebels. 

There was one standing alone near the outskirts of town, at the edge of a thickly wooded forest. The figure wore a familiar tricorn and a deep blue coat, and was helping to lead women and children into the forest and away from nearby danger. 

Catra knew instantly who it was.

Without any hesitation, she tied her horse to a tree branch and began to run down, avoiding gnarled roots and rocks as she did. 

She was able to go around the majority of the fighting, though it took her longer, and when she finally made it to town, she saw the British retreating (if only for a moment), followed by the militia going after them, and saw Adora looking around desperately for something. 

When their eyes locked, Adora wasted no time before running towards her and picking her up in a tight, desperate hug. “You came,” She said in a ragged, exhausted voice. “You made it. I— have you heard the news from Lexington?” She swallowed hard. “It’s going to be war, Catra.”

“Never mind that,” Catra said hurriedly, running her hands up and down Adora’s body while she checked her for injuries. “Are you hurt? Is it over?”

“No, I-I don’t think so.” Adora shook her head. “They’re regrouping, but I doubt it’s over properly—” The sound of yelling and gunfire in the distance drew her attention, and she frowned. “They’re not supposed to be there,” She said under her breath, eyes widening. “Shit.” There was an old-looking horse nearby tied to a post. Old as it was, it appeared to be well-rested, and Adora went over and began untying its stays. 

“Adora, listen to me.” Catra put a hand on her arm, trying to stop her, but it didn’t do anything to dissuade her. “I’ve been through almost all the towns on the way here, and so has Revere. The alarm system we designed worked perfectly.” 

“God, you’re so smart,” Adora said distractedly. “I knew it would.” Presenting the horse, she offered Catra a hand. Though a little confused, Catra took it, and in a second she was on the horse’s back. 

In the distance, they could hear the sounds of gunfire, as well as a company marching closer and closer. Adora turned towards it for a moment before turning back to Catra with an expression that was equal parts pleading and agonized. “You have to leave. If you go now, they won’t be able to catch you.”

Catra could feel bile rising up. Adora wasn’t getting on the horse. Instead, she reached for her pistol and checked that it was loaded. 

It was. 

Catra’s eyes locked onto it, as well as onto the slight tremor in Adora’s hand as she checked it. “But—but what about you? Adora, you can’t—”

“I have to fight. I’m a soldier,” Adora said quietly, reaching for Catra’s hand before squeezing it tightly and bringing her knuckles — her ring, she realized distantly — to her lips with a finality that made Catra’s head spin. “It’s what I do.” 

“No,” Catra whispered. One soldier against a whole regiment of Redcoats didn’t stand a chance, even when the soldier was as good as she was. It was a death sentence. Both of them knew it. “No, Adora, it—it doesn’t have to be you—”

“Today, it does,” Adora said sadly. She offered her a weak attempt at a smile. “That horse won’t hold us both.” Catra knew it was true, but she shook her head anyway. “I think it was always going to end like this.” Adora drew her sword. “I’m sorry, my love.” Her head flicked over to the noises in the bush before she met Catra’s eyes with a resigned sort of grief. “I wish we had more time.”

Catra shook her head, frantic and desperate, feeling tears prick at her eyes. Her voice came out raw. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare—”

The gunfire drew closer, followed by the sounds of angry yells. “Go!” Adora smacked the horse’s rear hard, and with a loud neigh it began to gallop at full speed away from her. 

Catra tried to steer the horse away, but it was spurred on by fear and a wild sort of disobedience, and she could do nothing but watch desperately as Adora began to fight the Redcoats that emerged from the forest.

By the time she was over the bridge and heading back towards the neighboring towns, she felt her heart beginning to break.

*** * ***

Adora fought long and hard, but she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of Redcoats there. She’d given command of her men to a captain from a nearby militia regiment, trusting him to lead them well while she made sure the civilians of the town made it out safely. 

Now, forced down onto her knees with her arms held roughly behind her back, she almost wished she’d been a little more selfish. 

There were bayonets pointed at her, and Adora could feel her lip bleeding from a particularly hard punch she’d taken to the face. More than anything, she was confused as to why they hadn’t just killed her outright. 

Her answer came in the form of heavy footsteps and a cruel smile. 

“Captain Fairchild,” said Charles. He didn’t bother hiding the glee in his face. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Adora groaned. “Spare me the pleasantries, Charles.”

“All business, then?” He asked lightly. “I would have thought you would appreciate a little small talk before you died.”

Adora narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to kill me, you would have done it already.”

“Very astute.” Charles squatted down to look her in the eyes. “I am going to kill you, Captain. Make no mistake. But I think,” He said, with malice in his voice and ill-hidden hatred in his eyes, “I’d rather make a spectacle of it. Let all of Boston know exactly what we do to traitors.”

Tamping down the instant spark of fear she felt, Adora gathered her bravado and sighed. “A hanging, then?” _At least it’ll be over soon_ , she thought, trying to accept it as she pushed down bile at the thought. “I didn’t think that was your style, Charles.”

“Oh, it isn’t,” He said. “But it’ll take a few weeks for the date to be finalized.” Charles’ eyes narrowed a little. “Did you know, during the last war, that they called me the Butcher?” There was an implication in his voice that put Adora on edge instantly.

“Is that so?” Adora asked carefully, feeling the hands around her arms tighten as they pulled her roughly into a standing position. “Dare I ask why?”

“Well,” Charles said, pulling out a small knife from his belt and twirling it in his fingers, “I’ve always had a… shall we say, a _talent_ for carving meat.” Adora’s eyes widened when she realized what he meant, and she tried not to let the fear in her eyes show as she swallowed hard.

He watched the steel glint in the early morning sun before pressing the flat of the blade against her cheek. It was cold as bone. “I wonder if my wife will still reciprocate your feelings when I’m done with you,” He said idly. “She’s always been vain, you know.”

At the mention of Catra, Adora’s eyes widened. She started sputtering, “I don’t— I-I have no idea what—” She was cut off by a hard punch to the gut, and would have collapsed if not for the soldiers keeping her upright.

Charles leaned in close to her face. “Don’t play dumb with me, Fairchild. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” He shook his head. “I’m going to make her watch when I kill you, and then?” He smiled, chuckling a little as he put the knife back into his belt. “Then I’m going to kill her.” 

Through the haze of pain, Adora felt her blood boil. “If you even _think_ about laying a hand on her—” Another punch, this time to the jaw, had her spitting out a glob of blood.

“Oh, Captain. You should really worry about yourself, you know,” Charles sneered, lips curling into a malicious grin. 

“We’re going to have so much fun.”


	6. keep the home fires burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora dreams. Catra uses a letter opener. The Rebellion becomes the Revolution.
> 
> Blood spills by the sea, but the waves don’t wash it away. Death comes to Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! this is our penultimate chapter, which i think is both exciting and a little sad. 
> 
> this chapter does feature more graphic violence than the ones before it, and i’m changing the rating to explicit as well as adding the ‘graphic depictions of violence’ warning to reflect that.
> 
> tw: brutal violence, death

When Charles came home the morning of the battles, Catra had only been back at the tavern for half an hour. Her ride had taken her more time than she’d hoped — especially given the state of the roads and the age of her horse — and most of her time back had been spent recovering, hiding the mud staining on the bottom of her dress, and trying desperately not to throw up. 

She was sick with worry, with guilt, and with rage at being left behind once again. Even if it was because Adora wanted her safe, all that had come of it was the death of the woman she loved. 

That was unforgivable. 

Catra sat on the corner of the bed in the room she and Adora had spent their time in, trying desperately to smell her one last time, to hear her laugh on the breeze that blew inside. Nothing came, of course. The candle sat lifeless on the windowsill, and she couldn’t bear to look at it.

There was a hollowness to her, and when Catra moved, it was like she was watching it from somewhere far outside her body. Thoughts entered and exited her brain, but they weren’t hers. She didn’t think so, at least.

Over and over, she replayed the crack in Adora’s voice when she’d told her to go. 

Over and over, she remembered the fear shining in her eyes. 

Over and over, she watched her fight; trading blows, desperate punches, and pistol shots until she was forced to her knees. 

That’s when she had needed to look away. 

Part of Catra hated herself for being weak in that moment, but the other knew that if she had watched Adora die, she would never forgive herself and never forget it. Even though she knew that, realistically, she probably hadn’t survived the encounter, there was still a chance. 

Catra sat bolt upright at a sudden memory.

Charles had told her their mission was to imprison the leaders, not kill them outright. That meant there was every possibility that Adora had merely been captured, and wasn’t lying in an unmarked grave in the outskirts of Concord.

It was a small flicker of hope, barely more than half a chance, but she latched onto it. The alternative would kill her. 

The door to her room swung open, and Catra jumped at the thud of it against the wall. 

“I thought I might find you in here,” Charles said with a steely edge to his voice, stepping through it a moment later. Catra looked him up and down quickly, gauging his mood. According to the expression on his face, the grime he was covered in, and the blood staining his uniform, it hadn’t been a successful mission.

For just a moment, Catra felt a glow of pride shine through the cracks of grief. She was careful to tamp it down as she spoke. “My love, you—”

“Spare me the pleasantries,” He spat, bringing a mug up to his lips. He must have filled it when he walked in, Catra thought idly. She’d done the same thing not twenty minutes ago. “How well-stocked are our food supplies? Do we have enough to last a few months?”

Catra frowned. Out of all the things she was expecting him to ask her, that wasn’t one of them. “Um,” She started, racking her brain to try and find the knowledge. “Well, last time I checked, we had a year’s worth of food in salted meat and flour.” 

Charles nodded tightly. He was clearly still fuming about something, and that was just one more thing Catra couldn’t deal with right now. She swallowed hard before asking, “Is... something wrong, darling?”

“Those Rebel _bastards_ are marching on the city,” Charles grunted. “Thousands of them. Scouts say some of them are coming all the way from Rhode Island and Connecticut, too.” He tipped the contents of the mug down his throat. “The general thinks they mean to put us under siege.”

Catra’s eyes widened. If Adora _was_ alive, she would likely be outside the city. If it fell under siege, there was no telling what would happen to both of them by the time the city was freed. “What do you mean to do?”

“ _I_ am going to remain in control of my men,” Charles said, as if it were obvious. “ _You_ are going to run the inn.”

Inwardly, Catra sighed. It wasn’t exactly a new arrangement for them. “Are you sure that’s safe?” Catra asked. 

“Safe?” Charles asked in a low, cold voice. “ _Safe_? I don’t give a damn if it’s safe. You’ll do what I tell you to,” He said, moving towards her slowly. “Do you understand?”

Catra swallowed down her fear and nodded. 

“Good.” Charles’ mouth contorted for a moment in a threatening approximation of a smile. “I knew there was obedience left in you somewhere.”

She pushed down the urge to vomit even as she tried to nod again, jerking her chin down in her best approximation. Her eyes flicked down to where blood was stained on his hands. “What—what happened? Were you injured?” Catra asked, injecting false concern into her voice.

“No.” Charles shook his head, looking her up and down for a second before he chuckled. A mean smirk flickered on his face. “It’s not my blood.”

There was an edge to his voice — almost an _implication,_ she thought — that confused her. “That’s good,” Catra said carefully. She swallowed thickly. “Right. Well, I should go see to our supplies—”

“One more thing.” Charles didn’t blink, and his eyes seemed to pierce into hers. “Do you remember Fairchild?” He asked, and there was a note to his voice she didn’t like. “That captain that’s been terrorizing us?”

The mention of Adora’s name made Catra’s heart drop, and she tried not to let the emotions bubbling up inside of her show. “Of course,” She said hoarsely. “Why?”

Charles nodded, as if he’d been expecting it. “I saw him before I left. He was speaking to a woman when I first saw him, I think.” He shrugged. “We exchanged words, but unfortunately,” Charles said, in a voice that gave no indication of misfortune, “he escaped. I wonder if I’ll see him again. You know, if I were him,” He said, leaning in a little closer, “I don’t think I would come back.”

Catra swallowed. If Charles had recognized her and Adora was still alive, they were both at risk. Her voice came out weaker than she wanted it to. “I-I don’t understand.”

Charles hummed. “One day, I’m sure you will,” He said lightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business down at the docks.”

“Why the docks?” That was new. Normally, Charles’ work took him further inside the city or to its outskirts, not to the docks near the inn. She knew the British had a fort by the water’s edge, and had heard some whispered tales of blood spilled inside it, but assumed they were all rumors.

A curling, grim smile played at Charles’ lips. “We have a guest.”

*** * ***

Adora woke up to a splitting pain in her head and a burning sort of ache to her arms. She blinked hazily a few times, trying to push past the rhythmic throb of pain and the blackness at the edges of her vision, and tried to move her arms. 

Curiously enough, her arms didn’t move.

That was her first clue that something was wrong.

Adora looked down blearily to see thick ropes curling around her wrists, tying them in front of her. The rope trailed upward from her makeshift cuffs a short distance, where she saw it looped securely around a sturdy-looking round wooden beam in the ceiling before coming down again and being tied off neatly around an iron ring on the wall. 

That confused her. There was some purpose for the contraption she was bound to, but in her half-conscious state, she couldn’t figure out what it was. 

She pulled her arms experimentally, testing the strength of the rope, but it didn’t budge even as it pulled taut.

 _Damn_ , she thought, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room.

What little there was in the room came from a small window near the top, and she was faintly aware of the sounds of birds squawking and a rhythmic pushing sound she realized was the ocean. 

“Shit,” Adora muttered. That meant she was by the docks, and nothing good happened there. 

In her time in the British army, being stationed near the docks was something of a rite of passage given how… well, how horrible it was. When people needed intimidating, debts needed repaying, or information needed to be drawn out of someone, they were taken to the docks. 

This was done in the hopes that the smell of the salt water, the seals, and the ships would mask the stench of blood. In Adora’s experience, it rarely worked. She had always considered herself lucky that she hadn’t ended up stationed there. Some of the stories her former comrades had told her before she left still kept her up at night. 

Realizing she was likely about to become one, Adora swallowed hard as she heard footsteps behind the heavy oak door at the other end of the room. 

It swung open a moment later, and she let out another groan as Charles stepped through it. There was an ugly-looking expression on his face that turned into a nasty grin the second he saw her. 

She was sure she looked a mess; she could feel blood caked on the side of her head from the blow that had knocked her unconscious in the first place, and one look at the floor told her she’d be covered in grime for the foreseeable future. 

“Captain Fairchild,” Charles said, stepping in before squatting down to her eye level. “How was your nap?” A different man — some foot soldier, by the looks of it — followed him inside with a small table and a leather roll that reminded Adora of the way cooks carried knives— 

_Oh_. 

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

Adora swallowed down the sudden burst of fear that was blooming in the pit of her stomach. “Um. It was lovely,” She said, hearing only a slight tremor in her voice. “But I guess a pillow was out of the question—” 

A hard, lightning-fast punch to her jaw cut her off with a sickening _crack_ , and as pain ignited across her face, she felt blood spill from a cut on the inside of her mouth. She spat out a mouthful, watching it spatter across the wooden floorboards, and Charles continued, almost unaware of the fact she’d spoken at all. “It’s been a few hours, you know. They haven’t found you.”

“Who?” Adora asked hoarsely, closing her eyes and trying to breathe through the pain. Her head was pounding again.

“That stupid little rebellion of yours.” Charles leaned down and grabbed her chin roughly, tilting her face towards him. “They’re not coming to save you, Captain.”

“I’ve been in worse spots,” She said, trying to breathe through the fear and pain coursing through her. It was a lie, of course, but she wasn’t going to show weakness now. “They might surprise you.”

Charles looked her up and down for a moment, considering. “No matter,” He said lightly, releasing his grip on her face and standing back up. 

He walked over to the leather roll on the table. “Since this is only the first of our days together,” He said, facing away from her as he unwrapped it, “I won’t overdo it. We have plenty of time, Captain.” Charles turned to look at her for a moment. “I consider myself something of an artist, you know. You’ll make a wonderful canvas.”

Adora fought back a low boil of nausea at the words. “You’re not going to get away with this, Charles.”

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” He asked, turning to face her for a moment. 

He selected a knife from his roll and turned towards her properly with it in his hands. The blade was long, and appeared freshly sharpened. 

Adora tried not to stare at it as he walked over, and chose instead to stare at a spot on the floor where her blood was dripping down through a gap in the floorboards. “I do my best,” She said hoarsely. 

Charles put the tip of the blade under her chin and tilted her head up again. “Are you ready to begin, Captain? All this small talk is boring me.” The point of the blade dug in a little further until she felt her skin part beneath it, trying not to let the sudden spark of pain show on her face. 

Charles lifted the knife into the light, watching the way a drop of blood rolled down it as the blade glinted. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He turned back to her with a smug smile. “I wonder where I should start,” He said, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. “Your face, perhaps, but I want my wife to be able to recognize you when you hang.” He narrowed his eyes. “Then again, you’ll have plenty of time to heal. Let’s do that, shall we?” 

Before Adora had time to react, Charles moved towards where the rope was tied to the ring on the wall. He undid the knot expertly before pulling down hard on the rope, and as Adora’s arms were jerked roughly over her head, she realized with a sick feeling exactly what the configuration was for. 

Charles pulled until her arms were almost straight up over her, fists clenched as she tried to struggle out of the bonds. “I think I’ll keep you on your knees for this,” Charles said, tying the rope in a tight, secure knot. “I’m sure Catra’s seen you there more than a few times.” 

Out of habit, Adora shook her head at the barbed comment. “Charles, I’ve never touched your—”

She was stopped by another hard punch to the face, this time to the other side. Adora tried to control her breathing, determined not to make any sounds beyond a few grunts of pain. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. Not here.

Charles shook his head in mock weariness. “I have eyes, Captain. I see the way you two look at each other. It’s pathetic, really,” He said, turning the knife over in his hands as he moved towards her with scrutiny in his eyes. “Even now, you’re still trying to protect her. Well, it’s like I said earlier.” 

Charles pressed the point of the knife into her temple, and she felt her fact contort in pain as he dragged the edge of it slowly down the side of her face. 

When he finally stopped, there was a thin line of blood down almost the entire length of it, from her temple down to the corner of her mouth. She felt blood dripping down her jaw, and watched it land on the floor. 

“You really should worry about yourself. And she’s always been vain, you know,” Charles said with a cruel smirk. “If, by some miracle, you make it out alive, I don’t think she’ll ever be able to look at you again.”

Adora shook her head, but no words came out. She knew if she opened her mouth, all that would leave it would be a whimper of pain, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He leaned back for a moment as if to admire his handiwork before his eyes landed on the claw marks at her jaw. 

Charles grabbed her face hard, keeping her firmly in his grasp while he moved her head to the other side. “You know, I’ve always enjoyed symmetry,” He said idly, adjusting his grip on the knife before bringing it once again to her face. 

He pressed the edge of the blade in hard, feeling her squirm under his almost-bruising grip on her face, and slid it up from the underside of her jaw until it was just barely above her cheek. Adora’s breathing quickened and grew ragged as the blade dragged along her face. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, almost white from how tightly she was keeping it closed.

Removing the blade, he didn’t give her a warning before he pressed it back to her face and repeated the movement twice more until three cuts ran along her jaw in the same shape as the scars on the other side of it. 

A small, badly-hidden noise of pain escaped Adora as she tried in vain to pull away from Charles, but his grip wouldn’t yield. 

When he finally finished, comparing the two groups of marks with an appraising eye, he nodded. “Much better, don’t you think, Captain?” 

Adora didn’t make a sound, trying instead to focus on the blood dripping down his fingers.

Shoving her head roughly to the side as he released her, Charles tsked. “Something wrong? You’re usually more chatty than this.” He let the point of the knife travel downward until he reached Adora’s collar and moved it aside. His eyes widened when he reached a still-fading hickey on the side of Adora’s neck. 

“Oh, what’s this, Captain?” Charles asked, resting the tip against the bruise. “I never took Catra for the possessive type,” He said, giving her a smirk. “I suppose I was wrong.” 

When Adora just gritted her teeth and stayed silent, he sighed, and shook his head. “You’re no fun.” 

It took everything in Adora’s power not to make a sound when she felt the knife’s point sink shallowly into her neck. 

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her sockets, and even though her first instinct was to jerk away, a firm hand kept her in place. “Careful, Captain. Wouldn’t want to end your time early, would we?” Adora’s breathing picked up, and she clenched her jaw tightly as she breathed in and out through her nose. 

Her chest heaved more and more, getting shakier with each breath, and when Charles twisted the point of the knife just barely, she couldn’t help the sharp exhale she let out. Adora knew the knife couldn’t have been in deep — no more than a half inch, really — but the pain flooding her body made her feel otherwise. 

Finally, he pulled it out slowly, looking at the blood smeared on it. “It’ll be harder than I thought to break you, won’t it?”

Fighting the urge to throw up, Adora tried to muster the strength to say the words without showing the pain she was in. “Y-You’re not going to break me.”

“Oh, Captain,” Charles chuckled, shaking his head. He brought his pinky finger up to the wound he’d created and slowly, horribly slowly, pressed it inside. Adora’s body jerked hard, but the hand on the other side kept her in place as he pressed against the wound. “Of course I am.” 

Charles took his hand away, wiping it idly on his pants, and left Adora to sag against the restraints keeping her upright. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as she tried to breathe through the pain coursing through her. 

He narrowed his eyes again, considering briefly what to do next, before he returned to the small table in the corner. He set the knife down on it before opening the door. 

Adora thought, for one blessed second, that they were done for the day. But she’d never been particularly lucky. As it turned out, this was no exception.

“Private,” Charles called to someone down the hallway. “Prepare a branding iron, will you?”

*** * ***

Charles was gone more and more these days, Catra thought. She wasn’t complaining by any means, but it was… new. Then again, it seemed like he had a lot to do these days.

He had been right about the siege: less than a day after the battles of Lexington and Concord, the city had fortified and prepared for war as thousands and thousands of militiamen marched on it. 

It was interesting. Before this, Catra had never thought of herself as a revolutionary, not really. She was a Boston local, yes, and had seen the tariffs and acts impact the city in real time, but it had never seemed accessible. It was never something she felt particularly obligated to join, either. 

Well, that had changed. 

Catra wasn’t sure when, but somewhere along the line, her work for the Rebellion had shifted from a personal, hidden sense of triumph over her husband into a real, genuine belief in a cause bigger than her. The harbor wasn’t particularly close to the city gates, but she could feel the tension running among Patriots and Loyalists of the city alike.

It had been nearly a week since the battles, and she’d watched the city transform almost overnight. 

Patriots would leave their houses with muskets and pistols, ready to fight and join the siege line. The moment they were out the door, Loyalists from the country took their place inside. 

From what she understood, there were still ways of entering and exiting the city, but they weren’t particularly well-trafficked. Most people wanted to stay in place and hunker down until whatever was happening passed.

So when two cloaked figures entered her tavern in the middle of a storm, Catra was expecting a pair of Loyalists seeking shelter from the rain. She was _not_ expecting to see Bow and Glimmer.

Her eyes widened the second their hoods were off, and they met her gaze with sheepish, but unyielding expressions. 

Scorpia was nearby, taking the order of a weary-looking squad of British troops, and Catra sidled up behind her. “I need you to watch the inn for a few minutes,” She murmured. “Can you do that?”

At Scorpia’s nod, Catra took a quick glance around the room to make sure they weren’t being watched before she jerked her head into the back room, where the stairs to the cellar were, in a clear _follow-me_ motion. 

Catra’s arms were crossed firmly over her chest when Bow and Glimmer appeared down the stairs a second after she did. “What the _hell_ are you two doing here?” She hissed. “If my husband— God forbid, if _anyone_ in here recognizes you, you’ll be killed.” Catra swallowed, looking between them for a moment before asking almost haltingly, “Does Adam know you’re—”

“Catra, please,” Glimmer interrupted. “That’s what we’re here to talk to you about.” She shared a look with Bow before saying, “You… might want to sit down.”

Catra felt a nervous sort of fear bloom in her stomach. “Why would I need to sit down? Is— God, is he—” She could barely _think_ the word, much less say it. “...Dead?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and she could feel her blood freezing to ice.

“No one has seen Adam since the battles,” Bow said quietly. He was staring at the floor, and Glimmer closed her eyes at the words. “At first we thought maybe he stayed behind to help clean up, but it’s been a few days, and… well, we think he—”

“Deserted? No,” Catra shook her head. “No. He would never—”

“We think he’s been taken prisoner, Catra.” The words were quiet leaving Glimmer’s mouth, but the pain and hurt in her voice seemed to reverberate around the small room. 

It was, at once, a confirmation of her strongest hope and her greatest fear. 

On one hand, it meant that the love of her life was alive. That piece of knowledge alone made her knees weak. But if Adam had been captured, there was nothing good that would happen to him until he was found, and it was likely only a matter of time before he would be executed. 

“But— wait, my—my husband said he escaped.”

Bow and Glimmer shared a confused look. “We didn’t see him come back,” Bow said. “And one of our scouts in the area reported a troop of British soldiers taking a man prisoner.”

“That’s why we came to you,” Glimmer said nervously, picking up where Bow left off. “We wondered if—if he said anything to you before he left,” She said, swallowing thickly through the lump in her throat, “or if you knew anything about where he’s… being held.”

Catra blinked once, then twice, frowning at the sudden tears welling up in her eyes. “No. I— no,” She stumbled, trying to process what she’d been told. “But I can find him.” Catra’s eyes flicked half-wildly between Bow and Glimmer. “I _will_ find him. I promise.”

Glimmer nodded, and seemed to hesitate for a moment before giving her a huge, tight hug. 

Catra stood in her embrace for a second before she slowly wound her arms just as tightly around Glimmer’s back. “We’ll be there the second you do.” Glimmer’s voice was thick, and Catra could hear the tears behind it. 

Bow was standing almost awkwardly apart from them, and looked like he wanted nothing more than to join them. Catra considered him a moment before she nodded almost jerkily, giving him permission. He gave her a grateful smile before slowly moving forward to wrap his arms around both of them. 

The majority of his body was against Glimmer’s, which Catra was grateful for, but one of his hands rested large and warm against her arm. She tensed up a little at his touch out of reflex, but with a deep inhale and a long, long exhale, Catra began to relax. In the moment, her body remembered everything it had endured — it likely always would — but she figured it was a start. 

When they finally broke apart, it was because the door to the inn slammed open again. Charles’ thin, reedy voice carried through it and down the stairs easily, and Catra’s eyes widened in fear as she practically tore herself out of Bow and Glimmer’s grip. 

“Hide,” She whispered. “Behind the barrels of ale in the back. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

Bow nodded, already moving to the rows of barrels stacked along the wall, but Glimmer stopped them both. “Catra, wait,” She said. “Are you going to be okay here? You don’t...” Glimmer let out a sharp sigh. “You don’t have to stay.”

There was a clear meaning in her words, and Catra would have been lying if she said it didn’t appeal to her. A day earlier— hell, an _hour_ earlier and she would have accepted immediately, but with the knowledge that Adam was alive somewhere, she couldn’t just leave. “I have to find him,” Catra said quietly. She gave them a small smile. “Once I know where he’s being held, I’ll come to you, alright?”

She watched Glimmer try very hard to conceal a worried look before giving her a slow nod and a smile. “Tell us the moment you find out,” Glimmer said, wringing her hands even as Bow began to steer her behind the barrels. “And please, just— be safe, Catra.”

Catra nodded a little. “I’ll do my best.”

She walked up into the bar with just enough time to catch Charles about to come into the cellar. He stopped abruptly the second he saw her. “There you are,” He said almost offhandedly. There was blood staining almost the entire lower front of his uniform, though none of it appeared to be his. His hands were red. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You found me,” Catra said, forcing a smile onto her face. She saw his eyes flick down to the staircase behind her and continued hastily, “Where have you been, my love? I’ve been worried.”

Charles’ gaze flicked back up to her face with poorly-concealed annoyance. “That’s no concern of yours, darling. I know you have a more fragile constitution than I do,” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You must be appalled at all the blood on my uniform.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, but Catra was doing an excellent job pretending she didn’t care. She forced another smile back onto her face. “Not at all, my love. I’m just glad to see you return unharmed.”

Charles looked her up and down as if considering this for a moment. “Right. Well, I’m afraid I have to get back to work shortly. I’m only allowed a few hours’ rest.”

Catra nodded. “Of course, darling. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.”

“Don’t bother,” Charles said with a cruel twist to his smile. “I’m only going to get dirtier when I go back.”

*** * ***

Six days. 

It had been six days of beatings, brandings, and desperate attempts to cling to consciousness since Adora first woke up next to the harbor. When she slept, it was fitful, and barely long enough to get any proper rest in. 

And yet every time she dreamed of Catra. There were times she was so exhausted that the only way she knew she was asleep was by seeing Catra’s face, hearing her laugh, catching a whiff of her scent on the breeze. 

She would blink one moment and open them next to see a kind smile framed by mismatched eyes. It was how she was measuring time, at this point. She didn’t get much time alone — Charles was either with her or sending soldiers in to kick her into submission on the floor — so whenever Catra came to her, she knew she had a moment’s rest.

Speaking of dreams, Adora was fairly certain she’d hear the sound of that oak door opening in her nightmares for years. 

Well. 

Assuming she had years _left_ , that is. Charles had alluded more than once to her execution — it was a favorite of his when jabs about Catra fell flat — but she hadn’t heard much about when the actual timing was. 

(Privately, Adora was beginning to hope it was sooner rather than later.)

She still hadn’t made much noise, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he’d done to her. But every day more cuts, carvings, and brands appeared on her skin, and every day it grew harder to keep her mouth shut.

Admittedly, she thought he would have done worse by now. But she’d overheard one of the other soldiers talking about how the law said they had to leave her _unspoiled and whole_ , as if it would make a difference under the noose.

Today, when the doors swung open, Adora closed her eyes and sent a quick prayer to whatever was listening that it would be over quickly. 

Charles walked in, setting his knife roll down gently. It had only been a few hours since they’d last seen each other, Adora thought, but it wasn’t unusual for him to come back a few times a day just to keep her on edge. 

Her jaw was sore from how many times he’d hit her, and she was sure a few of her teeth were being steadily knocked loose. That was to say nothing of the cuts on her face. He’d cut the sleeves off of her shirt a day or two ago, and her arms were slowly being covered in blood as his knives wound their way across them. 

(Somehow, though, that wasn’t the worst part. No— the worst part was when the nurses would come in after Charles left and dump disinfectant on her wounds. 

The sting seemed to last for hours, but even worse was the idea that she was being kept alive. She wasn’t _allowed_ to die until they said she could.)

“Did I wake you, Captain?” Charles asked, running the edge of a short-looking knife along a whetstone. “I thought a rest might suit you well.”

Adora groaned softly. “Normally, rests aren’t interrupted.”

If Charles heard her speak, he ignored it. “I have good news, Captain,” He said, looking over for a second at where she was slumped against the wall. “Your big day is coming up soon.” When the words’ meaning registered, Adora’s stomach dropped to the floor. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. “A week’s time, they tell me.”

It took Adora a few tries before she was able to speak. “I see.”

Charles had a smug look on her face that she wanted to punch off. “Nothing more to say? You’re normally so talkative, Captain.” He turned to her with the knife in his hand. 

“Just get on with it,” Adora said quietly. 

Charles sighed a little. “It’s a shame you’ve decided to be so stoic. Most men end up begging for their lives by the end of the first week,” He said, looking her up and down. 

He knelt for a moment to untie the rope on the floor and tugged at it until she was forced into a standing position. Charles hadn’t yet started on her legs, but Adora was sure it was only a matter of time. “Then again, there isn’t much of a life left to beg for, is there?”

He started moving closer towards her, and Adora did her best not to focus on the knife hanging by his side. Charles seemed to appraise her for a moment before moving around to her back. Out of reflex, Adora struggled a little against the ropes holding her up, but there was no use. 

Behind her, she heard Charles’ voice. “All this time and I’ve hardly touched your back. Well,” He said, “Better late than never. You know, I’ve been thinking of leaving you a more personal reminder of our time together.” She heard the rustle of movement a second before the fabric of her shirt was torn. 

Her first thought was of her bindings, and it sent a cold snap of fear down her spine. But if Charles had noticed, he didn’t comment. 

Then, Adora felt the knife’s tip pressing into her, and suddenly her attention was focused on the blade cold against her skin. She felt a bright, flashing sort of pain spark as the knife parted the skin of her upper back, moving down it carefully and slowly until there was a neat, straight line there. 

Adora struggled against the ropes holding her again as Charles made a second cut parallel to it, but she didn’t scream. 

Not even when he made two more lines next to them, and not even when he drew a fifth line cutting diagonally across the previous four. The sixth line was spaced a little away from them, and it was then that Adora realized what he was doing. 

“I think a tally is a remarkable way of keeping track of time, don’t you?” Charles asked behind her. There was a note of triumph in his voice that was unmistakable, and it did nothing to help the bile rising in Adora’s stomach. 

“Fuck you,” Adora gritted out. She could feel drops of blood running down her back, staining the bandages.

Her jaw was clenched so tightly she could barely get the words out, but Charles laughed anyway. “Your bandages are filthy. We should get someone in here to change—”

“No,” Adora said quickly. _Too_ quickly, she realized. She hoped Charles didn’t notice. “No. That’s not necessary—”

“That was an awfully fast response for something so mundane,” Charles interrupted, walking around to look her in the eyes. She was still staring at the floorboards, watching her blood drip through them, and he grabbed her face hard to force her gaze towards him. “Have you been holding out on me, Fairchild?”

In response, Adora spat in his face. 

Saliva mingled with blood as it hit him, and he closed his eyes and flinched away in disgust before rage took him over. Charles grabbed her by the throat as he drove his fist in hard to her gut, watching her try and double over in pain, but the ropes held her upright. 

“Bastard,” Charles spat back at her. He moved back, putting the knife he’d used for the tallies on the table and picking a new one. “I can’t wait for my wife to see you for what you really are.”

“Yeah?” Adora grunted, trying to stay conscious. She could see Catra at the corner of her vision, and willed her away. “And what’s that?”

Charles let out a humorless chuckle as he walked back over to her. With a quick, almost practiced motion, he cut her shirt all the way off, revealing the bindings wrapped around her chest. “A traitorous wretch,” He said, frowning at the bandages. “What’s under the bandages, Captain? Tell me.”

Adora let out a ragged exhale. “Nothing that concerns you.”

He grabbed her chin again and forced her face towards him. “Are you hard of hearing or just an idiot? Tell. Me.” 

Adora stayed silent, and considered spitting on him again. Charles’ eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll find out myself.”

As he began to cut roughly through the bandages, not careful enough with the knife to avoid drawing blood, Adora closed her eyes. She’d known for years now that she was going to die in this war, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be like this. She felt her bindings fall away one by one until Charles gasped.

She opened her eyes to see him staring in a mix of shock, awe, and horror, and let out a small, rattling exhale through what felt like broken ribs. “Surprise.”

“You’re a woman,” He said dumbly.

Adora shook her head. “I’m a captain.”

“You—” Charles began to shake his head, and didn’t stop. “No. It can’t be. Catra, she—she can’t have known about this—”

Adora felt a small glow of pride at being able to stagger him this badly. “She knows.”

Charles’ eyes flicked back up to her face. “So that’s why she never looked at me like that,” He said quietly. “I’m going to kill you, Fairchild. I want her to know that, too.” 

His eyes widened the way they did whenever he got a particularly cruel idea. “Oh, and I have just the way to do it.” Adora watched his mouth curl upwards slowly, but it didn’t reach the half-manic expression in his eyes. “Let’s give you something to remember her by.”

*** * ***

Catra was starting to get desperate.

Since Bow and Glimmer had visited her a few days prior, she had spent every minute of free time poring over the letters and memos her husband stored in his drawer. She was desperate for any spare scrap of information, _anything_ that would lead her to a possible location that Adora was being held in.

So far, she hadn’t come up with much more than the word _harbor_ , and even that was more from asking subtle, if somewhat probing questions about her husband’s job than actual translation.

It was infuriating. 

The spread of documents to her had stopped almost completely, and whenever a new one came in, it wasn’t helpful. She kept them anyway, of course, and translated them easily from the crude ciphers they were written in — information was information, and she hadn’t forgotten her original purpose with the Rebellion — but there was a sense of desperation that flooded her every time she saw a new piece of paper.

It felt like the answer was close. She _knew_ it was close, but there was something just barely out of reach. 

Truthfully, Catra had been having trouble focusing.

The inn, increasingly being treated as a halfway house/occasional medical bay for wounded soldiers, grew busier and busier each day. Between the extra work, the war, and the exhaustion that still somehow remained in her, it was difficult to devote her attention to _anything_ , even if it was as important as Adora.

That didn’t matter now, Catra supposed, sighing a little. She had taken the notebook out for a moment to thumb through it, and slid it back into her dress and adjusted it until it was hidden, and felt the cool silver of her ring press against her. 

She’d put it on the same cord as her notebook, keeping them both close to her heart as a reminder of the woman who held it.

Coming back to her surroundings, Catra found herself staring at the label of one of the barrels in the cellar. She was supposed to be taking inventory, she remembered. She shook her head a little to clear it and started over, moving over to the desk on the other side of the room to get a fresh sheet of parchment.

She was faintly aware of movement on the stairs behind her until the footsteps grew louder and louder. Catra sighed. “I’ll be with you in a second. If it’s a medical issue, you’ll need to give me a few minutes to get prepared,” She said idly, still rummaging around for spare paper. 

When there was no response, she looked up to see her husband standing with blood all over his hands and uniform. He was staring at her with an implacable expression, and seemed to be holding something behind his back. “Charles,” She breathed. “You’re— you’re home early.”

“I have a surprise for you,” He said, seemingly ignoring her. “I’m afraid I’ve kept it from you for a while, but, well, there are things you’ve kept from me, too. Isn’t that true, my dear wife?” 

The words sent a spark of fear down Catra’s spine. “I don’t know what—”

“Let me finish.” Charles’ eyes narrowed a fraction, and he began to take slow, methodical steps towards her. Out of reflex, Catra’s eyes flicked to a letter opener on the desk. Her hand began to inch toward it.

“You see,” He began, “I’m afraid I lied to you earlier.”

“Is that so?” Catra asked, trying to make the movement of her hand as inconspicuous as possible. She was so close to it now. Just a little further, and she’d have it. “About what?”

“Captain Fairchild,” Charles said. 

Catra’s hand stopped for a moment, and she looked up to meet his eyes with poorly-concealed disbelief. “I told you the captain escaped, I believe. Well, allow me to correct myself. He— or, more accurately, _she_ ,” He said, watching Catra’s eyes widen in shock, “did no such thing.”

The pieces came together with an audible click in Catra’s mind. 

“No,” She whispered. “No, you— you didn’t—”

“Oh, but I did.” Charles was almost to the desk, and some part of Catra not consumed in horror finished her movement towards the letter opener. Her hand closed around it tightly. 

Charles’ eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “I wanted to share the good news. Her execution was scheduled for next week, but I was able to get it moved to tomorrow morning.” He gave her a cruel, triumphant grin. “We’ll be attending, of course.”

“You’re lying,” Catra said dumbly. She adjusted her grip on the letter opener. “That’s not— you didn’t—”

“Oh, my darling wife,” Charles snickered. “I did. But I wondered if you’d need convincing.” He brought his arms out from behind his back. One was in a fist. He turned it over, and opened his palm to reveal a silver ring — _Adora’s_ ring, she realized with a spike of horror — covered in blood and grime. He set it down on the desk with a _clink_ that rang unbearably loudly in her ears.

Looking at it, she was suddenly very aware of the counterpart hanging around her neck like a stone heavy enough to drag her to the ground.

Catra’s hand flew to her mouth, and she staggered back until she hit the wall. She tried to make a sound, _any_ sound, but nothing would come out. 

Charles’ smirk grew on his face. “It’s a shame you won’t get to see everything I’ve done to her. I’ve left morethan a few presents from our time together,” He said. “And you should see the way her face twists every time I mention you.”

“No,” Catra said weakly. “P-Please, stop—”

“Oh, no,” Charles said, shaking his head. He began to move around the desk to where she was. “No, I don’t think I will. You see, Catra, you made a fool and a cuckold out of me. I intend to tell you every detail of my revenge.” 

He leaned in closer. “Perhaps you’d like to hear how Fairchild cried when I almost broke her jaw on the third day. Or how I’ve cut into her so much that her blood is probably going to be stained into the floor of that room forever,” Charles said, watching Catra’s face contort in grief and anger one after the other.

“Stop it—”

“Why should I?” Charles asked with a cruel smile. “I don’t want to stop. Especially not when your name is carved into her.” 

Catra’s eyes flew wide, and she heard a whimper come out of her mouth. Charles nodded, his smile widening until it looked like he was baring his teeth. “Now you’ll always be a part of her. Isn’t that sweet? It’s on her stomach,” He said. “Right above the word _traitor_.”

“Charles, _stop_ —”

He shook his head. “That was the only time she screamed, you know.”

Catra shook her head. The rage boiling inside her was reaching a breaking point. “I’m warning you—”

“About what?” Charles leaned in until their lips were almost touching. “Nothing you do will mean _anything_ ,” He said. “Your lover, your _captain,_ is going to die, and you’re going to watch. Then it’ll just be us, my love. Forever.” 

Scoffing at Catra’s weak attempts to control her breathing, he had nearly closed the distance between them when he added, “Maybe I’ll request that they put her head on a spike when they’re done. That way, you can give her one last kiss.”

Something in Catra snapped. 

The hand clutching the letter opener came up quicker than a bolt of lightning, and she stabbed it, harder than she knew she was capable of, into the side of his neck. 

It made a horrible squelching noise she wasn’t expecting, but the shocked expression on Charles’ face as his hand flew to the blade now embedded in his jugular was more than worth it. His eyes widened, and he tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was blood. 

He stumbled away from her, blood spurting and leaking all over him and their floor, and she pushed him hard for good measure. His head hit one of the barrels with a sickening _crack_ as the rest of him landed on the floor, bending his neck at a horrible, irregular angle. Charles twitched a few times before he finally went still. 

Catra swore she could see the light drain from his eyes.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at his body. 

There was blood practically pouring from his neck, puddling on the floor and around his body. There was a sort of beauty to it, she thought, but that might have just been the sudden, dizzying realization that he would never see his words fulfilled.

Realistically, Catra knew she should have felt some combination of anger, confusion, and horror at the thought of what she’d just done, but when she realized he was dead — as in, _dead_ dead, and never coming back to haunt her — the only wave that washed over her was one of calm and relief.

Catra knew she would have to clean up the body — and probably replace the floorboards, given the amount of blood leaking out of him — but that could wait. 

Her eyes flicked to the ring on the desk, and she took the cord around her neck and undid it before sliding Adora’s ring onto it next to her own. 

When she made it to the stairs, she paused for a moment and looked back at Charles. She wasn’t entirely sure _why_ she did it, really: he was dead. She knew that. Yet, in taking one last look at the man who’d made her life hell for years, part of her wanted to savor the moment for as long as she could. 

But there was no time for that now.

Catra shook her head a little and began to run up the stairs. Scorpia was behind the bar when she came out of the back room, and her eyes widened when she saw the blood spattered on Catra’s dress. “Oh my _God_ , are you—”

“I’m fine, Scorpia,” Catra said hurriedly. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Can you manage?”

Scorpia’s eyes narrowed a fraction, flicking over to the back room’s entryway. “Your husband went down there after you, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Catra swallowed hard, leaning in as she lowered her voice. “Um. I’m afraid he won’t be coming back.”

Scorpia’s eyes flew wide, and she looked around to see if anyone had heard them. “Oh my God, did you— actually, you know what? Don’t tell me,” Scorpia said. After a second, she sighed. “If you need help… _disposing_ of anything later, let me know.” A small smile slid onto her face. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I have a feeling he won’t be missed.”

Relief washed over Catra in a crashing wave. 

She took Scorpia’s hands in hers. “Thank you.” After a moment of considering, she pulled her into a tight hug. It was brief — Catra was _very_ aware of the little time she had left to save Adora — but it was enough to have tears welling in Scorpia’s eyes by the time they pulled away. 

Scorpia gave her a nod, and without another word, Catra tore off through the bar, not remembering or caring to slow herself down. Those days were behind her. She set off at a dead sprint through the streets of Boston, barely dodging pedestrians and officers as she ran. 

When she made it to the city gates, a small spark of fear ran down her spine. Two officers stood on either side of it, and one raised a hand as she drew near. “Halt,” He said, in a voice that was clearly supposed to be commanding. It came out a little squeaky, and made her wonder how old he was. “State your business outside the city.”

“Um,” Catra said, reaching for something plausible, “I’m visiting family.”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “Family? For what—”

The other officer, who had been silent so far watching them, suddenly piped up. “Easy, Thomas,” He said with a smooth, mellow accent. “I know her. You’re Captain Monroe’s wife, right?”

Catra thought of the blood on her dress even as she started nodding. She tried to hide the desperation and the urgency in her voice, but it still came out shaky. “Yes. I-I run a tavern by the harbor, the—the _Cat’s_ —”

“The _Cat’s Cradle_ ,” The officer finished. “I know the one.” He smiled at her. “We’ll let you through, Mrs. Monroe. Travel safely,” He said, giving her a small wave and a nod as the gates opened. 

She nodded her thanks, but the only thing running through her mind as she stepped through the gates was Charles’ body lying on her cellar floor. She supposed that in the course of her life, this was probably the only time he’d ever truly helped her. 

Catra shook her head, trying to clear it, and started running as soon as she was out of sight.

When she finally reached the encampment, it was busier than she’d ever seen it. 

Catra remembered how her husband had told her about the reinforcements from nearby colonies, but she had no idea just how many militiamen from the towns nearby had come to join them. Looking at them now, she saw what looked like thousands and thousands of people milling around. 

Catra saw soldiers in all sorts of makeshift uniforms cleaning and assembling weapons, cooking over small fires, and talking with each other, and though the sight of it warmed her heart, she didn’t have time to focus her attention on it. 

Adora’s ring sat heavy around her neck. Her eyes locked on the strategy tent, and without another thought she started running at full speed towards it, narrowly avoiding stray soldiers and militiamen. 

The privates manning the doors to the tent were different than the ones she had grown familiar with, and one of them stopped her on her way in with a raised, hesitant hand. “Excuse me. What business do you—”

“My name is Catra Fairchild,” She said hurriedly. “I have information about the whereabouts of my husband, Captain Fairchild. Let me in.”

The privates shared a look before nodding, and one opened the flaps for her. Needing no other permission, Catra pushed inside to see Bow, Glimmer, and Micah talking with a few older-looking men in ornate blue coats. She was sure they signified rank, but Catra wasn’t close enough to make it out. 

All eyes turned to her as she entered. With a small gasp, Glimmer shot to her feet and started, “Catra, did you—”

“I found him,” Catra rushed, the words spilling out of her like water from a broken dam. “I know where Adam’s being held.”

Bow was up from his chair in an instant. “I’ll get a group of men ready,” He said, already putting his coat back on. “Where is he?”

“A fortification by the harbor.” Catra looked between them. “My hus— _Charles_ had him,” She admitted quietly. “But he’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter—”

“Wait, Charles is dead?” Glimmer asked, half in disbelief. “How?”

Catra was suddenly very aware of the others in the room, and her eyes flicked to the strangers around the table staring at her. “I’ll explain later,” She said, shaking her head a little. “Listen, Adam is being executed tomorrow morning. We need to act now.”

Bow and Glimmer both looked to Micah, who nodded his permission. “I’m coming with you,” He said, already shuffling the papers in front of them and packing up. “He’ll likely need medical attention. I’ll prepare my things. I’m sorry, gentlemen,” He said, now addressing the other men at the table. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this meeting another time.”

As he turned back to Catra, Bow, and Glimmer, Micah said, “We leave in an hour at most. Understood?” 

The three of them nodded, and Bow had barely ducked out of the tent before he was calling out names and orders. Glimmer followed Micah to the medical tent to help him gather the supplies he needed. 

For the first time in months, the hope that welled up in Catra was unmarred by fear. It was pure, and almost blinding. It terrified her and reassured her all at once. 

But for the time being, all Catra could do was wait. She plopped into a chair, and as anticipation began to replace the exhaustion gathered in her bones, her hand went absentmindedly to where Adora’s ring hung around her neck. 

She could feel it through the fabric of her dress. Pressing it gently against her, she closed her eyes. 

_Just a little longer,_ Catra thought. _I’m coming_.


	7. the parting glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora learns to let go. Catra finds a new innkeeper. The Rebellion blossoms, blooms, and grows.
> 
> Blood blackens and turns to ink, and the scribes of history commit it to legend as time passes. The end arrives with the promise of a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have the words to tell you all how much this journey has affected me. it's been transformative in every sense of the word. i have a lot to say about this fic, about the people and the person that have been with me every step of the way, and the fact that it's probably going to live in my heart for the rest of my life, but i know you're all eager to see how it ends. there will be a note at the end that lets me do my thank-yous properly.
> 
> as always, alex and i are on tumblr @adorasheart and @brightbolts respectively, so please come tell us your reactions once you're done! kudos and comments are very appreciated, and they really do make our days.
> 
> thank you for making this such an amazing experience. i hope you enjoy our last chapter.

Catra had never been this tense in her life. 

Currently, she was sitting next to Glimmer in the seat of a carriage with Micah at the reins. Glimmer was fiddling with the tools she’d brought, and looking out the window as best she could to see Bow behind them. He was trying to look as innocent as possible while pulling a cart with no fewer than ten men squeezed together under a layer of hay and crops.

It was risky. It was _incredibly_ risky, as a matter of fact, but they were going to do it anyway. 

Catra was staring out the window, trying her hardest not to think about the state she would find Adora in, when she felt Glimmer reach over and squeeze her hand. She looked up to see wide, fearful eyes. “Hey,” Glimmer said carefully, “Listen. I don’t know that it’ll be safe for us to go inside. Maybe we should let Bow and his men—”

Charles’ words flashed in Catra’s mind. _He— or more accurately, she_ , he’d said. “No,” Catra interrupted. “I can handle myself. I’m going in.”

“Are you sure?” Glimmer asked quietly. 

“I am.” Catra gave her a nod she hoped was reassuring. 

She was turning back to the window when Glimmer asked, in a low, carefully even tone, “What happened to Charles, Catra?”

Catra swallowed. She thought of blood pouring from his veins, of the red that stained her hands and her dress even as they spoke. Her eyes flicked down, and she moved her hand away slowly to hide it beside her. “An accident.”

“Convenient timing,” Glimmer said. Catra looked over to see piercing brown eyes meeting her own. “Very convenient, in fact. This was just after he told you where Adam was, right?” The implication in her words was obvious, and Catra swallowed hard.

She thought hard about her next words, and masked the tremor in her voice well. “What are you asking me, Glimmer?”

Glimmer seemed to search her face for a moment as her own twisted in a mix of concern and hesitation. “Nothing that would bring you harm,” She said after a beat. “Your answer, if there is one, it… it can stay between us.”

A beat. Silence echoed between them, so loud it was almost deafening.

“I killed him.” Catra’s voice came out as a whisper, hoarse and weary. “I— He was telling me all these _horrible,_ horrible things about what he’d— what he’d done to Adam, and I—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. She tried to speak, but the lump growing in her throat was growing larger and larger by the second.

“How?” Glimmer asked quietly. There was no accusation to her voice, which Catra was grateful for, but she still couldn’t quite meet her eyes. 

Catra swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. “A letter opener.”

Glimmer winced at the thought. After a moment, she put her hand back on where Catra was twisting both of hers together in her lap. “Listen,” She said. “Listen to me, Catra.” Mismatched eyes flicked over to hers for a moment before returning to the window. “You did what you had to.” Glimmer paused. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long.”

“I’ll be hanged for murder if anyone finds out,” Catra said quietly. Her jaw pulsed once, then twice at the thought. 

Pushing away the tension and unease of the conversation, Glimmer shrugged. “Well, if anyone found out, you’d be hanged for spying first. There’s no net loss.”

Half out of surprise and half out of relief, Catra felt a jerky laugh bubble out of her. It brought her an instant sense of lightness, as if the weight on her shoulders had been relieved, so she did it again and again until she was half-breathless. She wasn’t sure where it came from, really, but something about it was so incredibly freeing that she didn’t want to stop. 

The concern on Glimmer’s face turned into a small, soft smile, and she put a little more pressure on Catra’s hands to help ground her. “Catra, you’re free of him. I’m happy for you.”

Catra let out a shaky exhale, letting her eyes fall closed just for a moment. The rolling of the wheels on dirt and stone outside reminded her of what they were doing, and the smile slid off her face. “Once we have Adam back, I will be too.”

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Catra stilled as voices sounded from outside. _The gates,_ she thought, straining her ears to hear the conversation. A guard — one of the same ones that had stopped her earlier, she realized distantly — asked Micah who was in the carriage. 

Catra heard Micah clear his throat. “My daughters,” He said easily, loud enough for them to hear. She craned her neck to try and get a better look at what was happening through the window. Micah was leaned over enough for her to see part of his face, and he nodded towards the cart Bow was driving. “And that’s my son behind us.”

Next to her, Catra saw a small smile play at Glimmer’s lips, but she cleared her throat quietly and tried to hide it. 

“Your son?” The guard asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t look alike.”

As if he had been expecting this, Micah nodded. “My daughter’s husband,” He explained with an innocent smile. Catra knew that he was Glimmer’s father, but the resemblance was stronger now than she had ever seen it. She’d seen Glimmer make that same faux-innocent smile many times before, and had learned to spot it in a second.

But the guard lacked her experience, and after a small hum, said, “Right, then. What’s your son bringing in?”

Micah shrugged, looking back to him again. “Just some hay for His Majesty’s horses.” Catra could almost see Bow nodding along, trying not to let his face betray the truth of what the hay concealed. 

The guard followed his gaze and looked back with a raised eyebrow, but nodded after a moment. Micah’s forged papers were in order, it seemed. “And your business in the city?”

“Well, all sorts of things,” Micah said. “We plan to visit some family in the city. But there’s an inn by the harbor we’ve been meaning to stop by, too,” He said. Catra could _hear_ the glee in his voice at the irony of his words. “And we might walk along the docks, too. It’s a lovely day.”

Frowning, the guard rolled his eyes and handed Micah’s papers back to him. “Right. Then be on your way,” He said, glancing down at the name written there, “Mr. Bright.”

Micah dipped his head in thanks before turning back to Bow and jerking his head forward. 

The carriage rumbled forward again, and Catra let out a short breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “So that’s done,” She said quietly. 

Glimmer nodded. “You remember the signal?”

“Once the bells in the square ring and the guards change shift, Bow’s men leave the cart and get to work. That’s when I go in,” Catra said without hesitating. She’d been turning it over in her mind since they left the encampment. 

“Right,” Glimmer said. “While you’re doing that, I get the carriage ready for Adam.”

Catra nodded along with her, then was quiet for a moment. “Until then, I… suppose we just have to wait.”

The closer and closer they grew to the docks, the more her heart began to race. By the time they were in position — Bow and his cart in an alley beside the docks, and Micah’s carriage across the street to keep a lookout — she could feel it slamming in her ribcage. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Glimmer asked nervously, laying down a towel on the other side of the carriage. “I know Bow would be happy to—”

“I’m sure he would, but I can’t let him.” Catra shook her head. “I know Adam. He won’t want anyone to see.”

“See what?” Glimmer asked, but it wasn’t as innocent as she tried to make it sound. There was a hesitation, a kind of knowledge to her words that made an alarm bell flicker quietly in Catra’s mind. But before she could deny or deflect, Glimmer held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t stop you. But… Catra, he’s been there for almost two weeks.” She put a hand on Catra’s shoulder. “You may not like what you see.”

Catra thought of what Charles had told her and remembered how blood had stained his clothes for days. She swallowed hard. “No, I imagine I won’t,” She said, looking back up at Glimmer. “But I’m doing it anyway. I have to.” 

Glimmer sighed a little, and looked her up and down with a nod. “I know you do. Be safe, alright? Do you have a knife? Any weapons?”

Catra frowned. “Should I?”

The hands tying an apron behind Glimmer’s back stilled as she looked up at Catra incredulously. “Is that a joke?”

“No,” Catra said, frowning. Her eyes flicked over to the window. She was starting to get impatient, and shrugged Glimmer’s concern off. “If I really need one, I’ll take it off a soldier,” She said. “But I’ve already killed one man today, and I’d prefer not to increase that count.”

As if on cue, bells began to ring outside, muffled by the carriage doors at the top of the hour, and Micah cleared his throat and thumped the side of the carriage twice. Catra’s blood ran cold. That meant Bow’s men were on the move. 

Catra turned toward Glimmer. “Wish me luck?”

At Glimmer’s nod, Catra turned towards the carriage doors and opened them. There was a pungent smell lying under the saltiness of the air that hit her instantly, and she grimaced just a bit as she made eye contact with Bow across the street. 

He nodded once, jerking his head toward where the two guards posted at the entrance were walking away, and she followed them with her eyes around the corner before nodding back. Bow made a hand signal to his men, and just like that they were silently entering the building.

Bow stood at the door waving them in as two went around back to keep watch, but a flicker of motion from the other side of the building caught Catra’s eye. 

Squinting, she could see the incoming guards walking up. Her eyes widened in fear as she made a frantic signal to Bow, jerking her head towards the side of the building, in a motion she hoped would tell him to hurry. 

Cara watched his eyes widen in realization as he turned his head towards them, and he drew a knife from his belt before waving her over. 

Catra swallowed, running as fast and as quietly as she could until she was beside him, and hissed, “Bow, what are you—”

“Go inside,” He whispered. The words spilled out of him almost frantically. “Find Adam so we can get out of here as soon as possible.”

Catra shook her head a little. “What about you?”

“Catra, I’ve dealt with worse than two Redcoats. I don’t want to know what’s going to happen if they see you,” Bow said, with more than a hint of urgency to his voice. His grip on the knife tightened. “Go. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Taking one last look at him, Catra put a hand firm on his shoulder as she turned to slip through the door. She wasn’t sure what more there was to say, so she gave him a solemn nod in farewell, and he returned it easily. 

Stepping into the first floor of the building, Catra ran through the list of everything she knew about where Adam would be as she began to make her way to the lower levels.

 _One,_ she thought, stepping over the body of a dead soldier in a red coat that still wore a look of shock on his face, _there’s no upper floor, but there’s a basement built into the side of the harbor._

Catra heard shouting from the other end of the fort and looked around for a hatch or a staircase. The corner of a rug was upturned, as if someone had moved it in a hurry. Her eyes narrowed as she moved towards it. _Two: the easiest way to hide something is to do it in plain sight._

Sure enough, under the rug sat a thick wooden trapdoor. It opened to reveal a ladder, and Catra swallowed hard as a smell of decay hit her. She eased herself down the passageway, watching it open up into a small room with a few oaken doors in front of her. 

Catra looked down. There were several brownish-red trails along the stone floor. All of them seemed to be thicker on the way out of the basement than they were on the way in. _Three_ , she thought, wrinkling her nose and suppressing bile at the implication, _blood never lies._

There were three doors in front of her, one of which was set aside from the others down a short hallway, and it was the first to draw her attention. Part of it was logical: she knew her husband, and she figured Charles knew _exactly_ what he planned to Adora. He probably picked a separate room to make sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. 

The other part was pure, unrelenting instinct. Catra had never been a particularly religious woman — whatever sense of a higher power she had was lost after her and Charles’ wedding night — but there was a feeling she got as she drew nearer that she couldn’t deny. 

Something tugged at Catra’s gut as she got closer and closer to the door at the end of the hallway. As the stench of blood grew stronger, she knew with a sinking pitfall of dread that her instinct was, unfortunately, correct. 

The door was unlocked, and the iron of the doorknob was cold under her hand even as she twisted. Catra’s hand slid off of it when she saw Adora for the first time in nearly two weeks.

Adora was kneeling, but her arms, tied tightly together at the wrists by a thick rope, were held above her head. Her hands hung limply above her, and Catra could see blood dried around her wrists from how much they must have rubbed there. 

Catra followed the line of her arms down to her shoulders and torso, and that was when she felt bile first start to rise. 

She had wished — prayed, even — that Charles was exaggerating when he told her the damage he’d done.

He wasn’t.

Catra had never seen so much blood in her life. 

It was all over Adora’s body: around the burnt, scarred edges of flesh that looked as though it had been branded, arcing up her arms in horrifically graceful lines, and — worst of all — peeking out in all-too-recognizable lettering on the lower part of her torso. 

The skin Catra could see under the blood was a sallow, pale color that resembled that of a corpse more than it did a living person.

Adora’s shirt had been roughly cut off of her, and Catra could see her bandages on the floor around her in tatters. She seemed to jolt at the sound of the door opening, shaken out of whatever fitful sleep she was in, and when she lifted her head up wearily to look at Catra, she could see dried blood caked on her face.

When Adora saw Catra, standing frozen in horror and grief, she seemed to sag even more limply against the ropes as she let out a sigh. “‘M not asleep,” She mumbled. It came out strained, as though the words caused her pain. “You— you shouldn’t be here yet.”

Above them, Catra heard the sound of yelling as a fight broke out, and she knew their time was ticking away. A cracking sort of _thump_ came from the end of the hallway where Catra knew the ladder sat, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Her eyes cast around the room wildly, looking for something to get Adora down, and they landed on a small table with knives arranged neatly on top. 

Their purpose made her sick, but she pushed her hesitation down and grabbed the biggest one she could find before turning back to Adora. 

Adora flinched a little at the sight, and Catra felt regret twinge at her instantly, but it didn’t stop her. “Adora, listen, it—it’s me,” She said, leaning down for a moment to look her in the eyes. The ones she met were glassy, unfocused. “It’s your Catra.” Adora’s brow furrowed for a moment, but there was still fear and suspicion palpable in her eyes. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

Adora let out another shaky, pained exhale, followed by a few wracking coughs that made her body shake and spasm with their force. “Y’say that every time,” She grunted weakly, shifting a little in the ropes. “I know you’re not real.”

Catra put a hand on the side of her cheek, careful not to touch any of the wounds on her face. “I _am_ real, my love,” She said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Catra’s eyes closed, and when she tasted salt on her lips, she realized she was crying. “Can you feel me? I’m right here.” Her eyes scanned Adora’s face, watching her pause. “And I’m taking you home.”

Under her touch, Adora stilled, and looked back at her with a look of fearful, hesitant hope. “Promise?” She croaked.

Catra nodded once, twice, then over and over again until she could feel a sob coming up through her chest. “I promise.” 

She stood, taking the knife in her hand to the ropes tying Adora’s wrists above her head, and began to saw through them. They were thick and tough, clearly made to last and not to be easily broken, but they were no match for her determination. 

The last threads of the rope snapped, and Adora’s arms dropped down. The only thing that stopped her from collapsing completely was Catra wrapping her arms around Adora’s body to keep her upright and hold her tightly. 

Something wet on Adora’s back touched her hand, and she looked down to see fresh blood coming from small, neat lines there. Catra closed her eyes, telling herself she would think about that later, and asked, “Can you stand?”

From where she was slumped against Catra, Adora shifted, and groaned, “I can try.” 

Catra nodded and leaned back. She took one of Adora’s arms and wrapped it around her shoulders. She stood slowly, uncaring of the blood dripping down her clothes, until she was supporting nearly all of Adora’s weight. 

That was when she realized that there was, perhaps, a problem.

 _Two_ problems, really, because Adora wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Due to her position in camp and the rising tensions that had preceded the battles of Lexington and Concord, Adora rarely took her bandages off — which wasn’t healthy, as Catra had taken to reminding her gently whenever she got the chance — and without them her chest looked… raw. This was to say nothing of the cuts Charles had made there. 

Out of respect, Catra looked away.

Adora’s bare feet slipped a little on the bloody stones as the two of them moved, and she let out a pained gasp when Catra put a hand on her ribs to catch her. 

The problem of her chest was solved, as it turned out, by the body in front of the ladder. Catra dimly remembered the thump she’d heard a few minutes prior. Now, a dead British soldier lay in front of them, and though she did her best to ignore the horrible, inhuman twist to his neck, her real focus was on his shirt. 

She leaned Adora up against the wall and gave her a kiss to a part of her cheek unmarred by blood, scar tissue, or dirt. In no time at all she’d stripped the soldier of his shirt and coat, and brought it over to Adora. 

Lifting her arms above her head on her own seemed difficult for Adora, so Catra helped her slowly slide her arms through the sleeves. Blood stained through the shirt instantly, but it was enough to hide her chest. 

Catra let out a short sigh of relief at the sight before helping her towards the ladder. “Can you make it up?”

“Only one way to find out,” Adora gritted. Her jaw was clenched so tightly Catra wondered how she’d gotten the words out in the first place. The sound of fighting above them had grown quiet, and Catra hoped against hope that it was because they had won. 

She helped Adora over to the ladder. Adora lifted a weary, bloody arm up to the first rung before trying her absolute hardest to pull herself up, but somewhere between the cuts and the broken ribs she couldn’t manage it, and slumped with a grunt of pain against a nearby wall. 

Words came out through tightly gritted teeth. “Guess not.”

Catra nodded easily. “It’s okay. It’s okay, my love. Just— let me get Bow. He’ll help,” She said softly. “Okay?”

With a tight nod, Catra turned toward the ladder. Her heart leapt into her throat as she began to climb the rungs with shaking hands. Poking her head up carefully out of the trapdoor, her pulse hammered in her ears. 

Then Bow walked into view talking with a few of his men, stepping over the bodies littered on the floor, and Catra felt like crying. She lifted the trapdoor up properly. “Bow,” She called, watching him jump a bit at the sudden noise, “I found him.”

Bow whipped around to look at her. “Really?” He asked. There was a daring sort of hope that entered his voice. 

“Really,” Catra said. Relief was beginning to fade into urgency. She looked down at where Adora— _Adam_ , she reminded herself, _until we can be alone again —_ was still slumped against the wall. “Help me bring him up.”

It was a struggle getting Adam back up the ladder, but with Bow helping to gently pull him up and Catra guiding him they managed. He ended the journey looking paler than he had moments prior, but otherwise upright. 

“Come on,” Bow said, slinging one of Adam’s arms around his shoulders and inviting Catra to do the same. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get him to Glimmer.” He looked to Catra. “Are you going to stay with him in the carriage?” 

Without hesitation, Catra nodded. “Yes,” She said. “Of course I am.”

They started walking toward the door, moving slowly for Adam’s benefit. “Good,” Bow said. “Now that Charles is gone, I sort of figured…”

He trailed off as Adam frowned. “Wh—what?” He asked blearily, blinking through the pain and exhaustion. “Gone? What—”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later, Captain,” Catra said quickly. If she was going to tell him what happened, she needed a few hours’ break beforehand. “But we need to go. Glimmer and Micah are waiting to tend to your...” Catra trailed off with a thick swallow. Her eyes flicked to the cuts on his face as they walked, and she averted them as best as she could. “...Wounds.” 

Adam nodded, looking less and less awake by the second, and Catra knew they wouldn’t have much time before he passed out. She could see the exhaustion clear on his face, how pale and waxy his skin looked, and how his hair had gone from a strong golden color to more resembling blood-stained straw. 

It made her heart ache and burn at the same time. 

There was the ache of sorrow, a now-familiar twinge that she had no interest in getting any closer acquainted with; and the burn of deep, furious anger at Charles for doing this and at herself for not noticing sooner. It pulled her in two directions, and neither of them would lead her anywhere good. 

Not for the first time, she was grateful Charles was dead. In that moment, she would have killed him again.

When they made it to the door, stopping for a second to try and figure out the best way to get through, she looked to Adam. Catra looked over at the face she’d long since memorized, and even under the blood and the grime and the scars he was beautiful. 

The thought put her mind at ease. Out of reflex, Catra leaned over to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“Hold on a little longer, alright? It’s over,” She said quietly, making sure only Adam would hear it. “You never have to face him again.” Catra paused for a moment, smiling despite herself. “Neither of us do.”

“Yeah?” Adam asked, voice hoarse and roughened from exhaustion. 

Catra felt tears welling in her eyes as she nodded. The carriage door was only a few feet in front of them, and as Glimmer leaned out to beckon them forward, Bow and Catra quickened their pace. “Yeah,” Catra said to Adam. “I promise.”

Glimmer went to them quickly and helped Adam up the steps. Catra followed him in positioning him awkwardly in the small carriage until he was situated in the least painful way possible. 

She brushed some of the hair out of his face and breathed a sigh of relief when he gave her a small, weak smile. Outside, she heard Glimmer ask Bow, “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” came the response. “No, I’m alright.” Catra could hear the smile in Bow’s voice. “Why? Were you worried about me?” He asked with a teasing lilt. 

Catra felt a smile creep onto her face as Glimmer let out a small huff. “What, is that a crime? To worry about the man I love?”

Bow was quiet for a moment before Catra heard him say, with a smile she knew was stretching across the length of his face, “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Catra looked over at Adam. His breaths were beginning to slow, and even as relief washed over her she knew they had to move fast if they were going to properly rescue him. After all, what they had done wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. 

She poked her head out the door to see Bow press a kiss to Glimmer’s forehead. “I hate to interrupt,” Catra interrupted, watching them spring apart, “but we really do need to get going.”

Glimmer cleared her throat and turned to her with a blush dusting her cheeks. “Right! Yes. We do.” She turned to Bow and gave him a smile.

Bow’s eyes flicked over to where Adam was clutching his side before returning to Glimmer. “Be careful,” He said softly. 

Glimmer gave him a smile as she reached her hands behind her to retie her apron. “I’m always careful.”

The second the carriage doors closed and Micah began to guide them back out of the city, Catra turned to where Glimmer was pouring water from a canteen onto a small cloth. “Is there anything you can give him now for the pain?” She asked quietly. 

Catra chanced a look over at Adam, and saw the edge of his shirt riding up. She had to swallow down a sob at the sight of angry, raw letters peeking out from under it. 

The movement of Glimmer shaking her head brought Catra back to reality. “Not here,” She said, reaching over a little to lift the hem of his shirt. She started to wipe away some of the blood dried on his stomach, wincing at the sight of some of the more severe injuries there, and Catra saw her eyes linger on the words carved just above the waistband of his pants.

“God,” Glimmer said quietly. “They did a number on you, huh?”

Adam seemed half-unconscious already, but nodded limply. “‘M not gonna deny it,” He mumbled. At a slightly harder press of the towel against what looked like a brand, he jerked a little with a poorly-hidden yelp of pain. “Fuck. S-Sorry,” He gritted, watching Glimmer’s face contort in regret and guilt. “Just hurts.”

Catra reached out for one of his hands, careful to avoid any areas with cuts on it, and held it gently in her own. She brought his knuckles to her lips and pressed a kiss there, letting her eyes fall shut. “I’m sorry,” She said. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“Don’t be,” He said, with more than a hint of a strain to his voice. “Not your fault.”

“The worst of it was,” Catra said. “Charles told me.”

At the mention of Charles’ name, Adam’s eyes fought their way open. One of them was swollen from being hit and seemed to be crusted over with blood, but he opened it as best he could. “Where is he?” 

Catra could feel Glimmer’s eyes looking over at her. She cleared her throat as Glimmer readied a small needle and thread for one of the larger cuts on his stomach. The edge of his shirt was still low enough not to show anything, but Catra was keeping a steady, watchful eye on it. 

“Gone,” Catra said after a beat. There was a sense of finality, of _certainty_ in her voice that made Adam’s eyes widen. “For good.”

*** * ***

Catra wasn’t entirely sure how they made it back through the gates, but they did. The second they were back in the encampment, she heard Micah halt the carriage and hop down easily. The doors swung open a second later, and he looked at where Glimmer was finishing up the last of the stitches on the most pressing of Adam’s wound. 

Stitching him in the carriage had gone as well as it could have, and Catra was thankful more than anything that their ride had been relatively smooth. Not _completely_ smooth, of course — there had been a few bumps while Glimmer was pushing the needle into his skin that had made Catra briefly worried Adam’s grip would break her hand — but she’d held tight to him and kissed his forehead and his face to try and distract him.

As Glimmer exited carefully, she gave Catra a nod. “Let’s get him out.” 

Catra swallowed as she returned her nod, and reached a hand over to help Adam up and out of the compartment. Adam’s legs gave out on the first step, and Catra felt herself spring up to try and catch him. Luckily, she didn’t have to, because Micah was there to do it for her. 

“Captain,” Micah said, looking him over with a small smile. He moved Adam gently to support his weight better. “We’re glad to have you back.” At Adam’s responding half nod, Micah turned to Glimmer. “Has he fallen unconscious?” He asked, a stern edge slipping into his voice. Catra could practically _see_ him turn from military commander to surgeon.

Glimmer shook her head. “No. He’s managed to stay awake,” She said, and launched into a full report. 

The rest of the conversation they exchanged went over Catra’s head — all details of necessary medications and proper wound care — and instead, she just stared at where Adam was blinking slowly and looking with unfocused eyes at the ground. His breaths came ragged and strained.

Catra felt worry bubbling up again as he started to slump in Micah’s grip, and she only barely restrained herself from rushing to his side. “Please,” Catra said, hearing the watery tone of her voice. “Hurry.” 

Micah nodded. “It’ll take a while to make sure he’s properly stitched up and none of his wounds are infected,” He said, beckoning a few stray soldiers over before ordering them to help Adam to the medical tent. Catra watched them bring over a makeshift stretcher, easing the love of her life onto it before carrying him away.

“How much time?” Catra asked. The desperation in her voice was clear to both of them, but she didn’t care. “I can wait.”

Micah gave her a small, sad smile. He tried to make his voice as soothing as possible. “Until the morning, at least. From what I saw, he needs some serious attention.” He paused a moment, as if considering what to say next. “You should try to get some rest, Mrs. Fairchild. Your husband isn’t going to die today.”

“Just— promise me, Micah.” Catra searched his face. “Will he be alright?”

The smile on his face flickered. “Well… he’s been through a lot,” Micah said softly. “He needs rest, proper nutrition, and time to heal both his body and his mind.” After a moment, he put a hand gently on her arm. “He’s a hero, Catra. You should be proud—”

“Proud?” Catra interrupted, half in disbelief. “I should be _proud_ that the man I love was—” She choked on the words as tears stinging of anger and grief filled her eyes. “No. Pride isn’t the right word. There’s no honor in this, Micah. He’s going to live with those scars the rest of his life.”

The hand on her arm slid off. “Of course. My apologies,” Micah said stiffly. He nodded a few times. “Well. If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to the captain. Glimmer should have everything set up by now.”

Catra nodded jerkily. She tried to say something more to him, but couldn’t find the words to do it. 

He left with a quick dip of his head, and even with thousands of soldiers milling around her, Catra found it suddenly very difficult to shake the loneliness that overtook her. Her hand went instantly to the rings around her neck. 

Under her dress, she felt the cool metal press against her, and memories flashed before her eyes. 

She remembered how surprised Adam had been the first time they’d met, how quickly he’d sought her out, how he’d blushed the first time Bow called her _Mrs. Fairchild_. Then she remembered the first time he had offered to kill Charles that first night in the room above the tavern. He had been so serious. It was one of the first times Catra remembered feeling her heart skip a beat around him— 

_Charles_. 

Somewhere in the haze of memory her eyes had fallen closed, but they shot open now. Catra thought of the blood draining into the floorboards and the smell that was sure to follow it and let out a sigh. 

Her day wasn’t over, it seemed. Instead of rest she would get to dump a body in the harbor, and instead of sleep she would scrub stains out of her hands and her floor for hours. 

Catra was still thinking of the best way to get Charles’ body out of the tavern when she heard someone call to her. She looked up slowly, barely focusing on what was in front of her, and only registered Bow’s presence when he stepped closer to her. “You look a little lost,” He said softly. “How are you doing?”

“Honestly? I’ve been better,” Catra shrugged. “You?”

“About the same.” Bow looked like there was more he was going to say. He wrung his hands for a moment before slowly, haltingly, saying, “Glimmer told me about Charles.”

Catra’s eyes widened. “How did— we’ve only been back at the encampment a few _minutes_ , how—”

“Catra, is… is it true?” Bow raised his eyebrows at the end of his question.

She sighed. There was no point in denying it. “It is.” Catra gnawed at her lip for a moment. “I was... just thinking about it, actually,” She said with a small, frustrated sigh. _Just what I need_ , she thought. _Something else to deal with._ “If you’re here to try and punish me for it, I’m telling you now that I don’t regret what I did.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Bow gave her a small smile. “In fact, I was going to offer you a ride back to the inn. You probably have some… unfinished business there.”

She let out a small scoff. “If by _unfinished business_ you mean a body in my cellar, you’re right.” Catra knew her tongue was looser than it should be, but exhaustion was starting to leak into her bones. It had been a _long_ day, and all she really wanted to do was sleep. 

But she knew Bow was just trying to help. Catra sighed and closed her eyes. Her voice came out quieter and more weary than she was expecting it to. “Sorry,” She said. “It’s just… been a long day.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Bow nodded in agreement, and just for a moment it looked like his own exhaustion seeped into his body. Catra noticed for the first time the blood staining the cuffs of his shirt, and remembered she wasn’t the only one who had taken a life that day. 

Her eyes lingered there for a moment before she looked back up at his face. “If you’re still offering that ride,” Catra said, giving him a small smile, “I accept. And if you want a drink, it’s on the house.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bow said. He smiled gratefully back at her. “I’ll let Glimmer know we’ll be gone for a while. And, um,” He started, “I… can also ask for tips about getting blood out of things. She has a fair amount of experience there.”

Catra thought of what Glimmer was doing at that moment, and her brain conjured up an image of Adam unconscious under needles and knives, and felt the smile slip off her face even as she tried to push it away. “Thank you, Bow.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” Catra said, waving a hand in a sweeping gesture. “For talking to me. For helping me get him back.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Bow’s face softened instantly. “Just— thank you.”

“Anytime, Mrs. Fairchild.” Even through her tears, Catra smiled at the name. Bow put a hand on her shoulder, making sure his movements were slow and predictable. “You may not wear a uniform or hold a sword, but… you’re one of us.”

Catra couldn’t find anything to say, so she stared at him. Bow shifted a little where he stood. “I mean, none of this would have happened without you. Good and bad,” He said with a nod. “You’re just as much a leader of this Rebellion as Glimmer, Adam, and I.”

If he had said it a day sooner, Catra would have felt nothing but pride at the praise. He was right, after all: her contributions and intelligence were one of the main advantages they’d gained within the city.

But her hand pressed Adam’s ring into her chest, and all she could think of was the word _traitor_ carved brutally into him. It was just another scar he would bear the rest of his life. It — as well as her name, the memory of which she found incredibly hard to push from her mind — served as another reminder of every unspeakable thing that had happened to him in the search for a better life.

For a moment, Catra wondered if the Rebellion would have been as successful without his willingness to bleed for it. 

_It wouldn’t_ , she decided. _But that doesn't mean it was worth it._

*** * ***

All Adam could feel was pain. 

The stitches in his abdomen were pulsing with it, the tally marks carved into his back (both new and old, as they now numbered ten) were throbbing, and the fresh brand that Charles had given him the day before — the emblem of the Crown on his back, just between his shoulder blades — was raw and blistering and fucking _painful_ in a way he wasn’t used to.

As the canvas of the stretcher under his body pressed against him, Adam felt his blood soaking into the linen shirt against his back. He wondered distantly if it would stain. 

The flaps to the medical tent opened, and Glimmer was by his side in an instant. “Open your mouth,” She said, trying very hard to keep her voice calm as she got a look at his wounds in the light. “I’m giving you something for the pain.”

Adam obliged, too tired and too distracted to argue, and when he felt the bitter taste of the laudanum down his throat he groaned a little. “Water,” He croaked, hearing his voice come out as cracked and raw as he felt. “Please.”

Glimmer nodded, turning to pick up a small pitcher on a nearby table. “Can you sit up?” She asked gently, wiping away a stray hair from his face. When he shook his head, she put a hand on the underside of it and slowly helped him raise it up. 

The water ran cool down his throat, and he swallowed it with a shiver as it ran through his body. Adam nodded his thanks to Glimmer, and when she set him back down on the table, there was a look on her face that meant she had something to say. “What?” He asked, still hoarse. “Is something wrong?”

Just as Glimmer opened her mouth to speak, the tent flaps swished open. Micah stepped through, already tying an apron around his back. “Did you give him the painkillers?”

“I did,” Glimmer said. “And I set up the rest of the tools you’ll need just like you taught me.”

He smiled with pride. “That’s my girl.” Micah nodded to Adam. “How are you feeling, Captain?”

What Glimmer had given him was starting to kick in. Adam could feel his limbs getting heavier as his eyes began to fall closed. “‘ve been better,” He said slowly, hearing a slur in the words. “Y’gonna fix me, doc?”

The part of his brain still awake knew the state he must seem in: blood caked all over his body, scabs forming ugly and haphazard over jagged wounds. Micah seemed to wince as he saw the extent of it. “I’ll do my best, Captain.”

Another thing popped into Adam’s mind. “‘S Catra okay?” He asked, yawning at the end. “Missed her.”

Micah’s jaw pulsed for a moment before he nodded. “Your wife is perfectly fine,” He said after a beat. “She’ll be here when you’re done, okay?”

The last thing Adam heard before sleep overtook him was Micah telling Glimmer gently to go see that the rest of the soldiers were uninjured. She started to ask why, but all Micah said was, “I just need to give the captain some privacy.”

*** * ***

Bow and Scorpia helped Catra get rid of the body that night. 

Given how quickly they worked and how determined they were, it went much, much faster than she was expecting. They rolled Charles up in a sheet and carried him to the harbor when Scorpia told them the streets were clear. 

When the _splash_ of the water came, Catra watched the hastily-wrapped bundle concealing his body sink slowly into the depths of the harbor. The fact that it was wrapped in a thick chain Bow had brought to weigh it down meant the whole process was over fairly quickly, which Catra found herself grateful for.

Next to her, Bow cleared his throat. “Should we say anything?” He asked, barely above a whisper. The night was pitch-black, with a new moon giving them the blanketing cover of night they needed, but Catra heard a thread of nervousness in his voice. 

“No,” She replied. “Not much to say. He hurt me, he hurt Adam, and he died for it.” Catra turned to the water and spat into it. “Good riddance.”

Scorpia let out a small chuckle at the words. “How bad is the cellar? I mean in— in terms of the, um. The blood,” She said, halting a little on the last word. “I don’t want to be unhelpful, or anything, but I’m a little squeamish, and I don’t know if—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Catra’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “I’ve been meaning to replace the floors anyway.”

The three of them made their way quietly back to the _Cradle_ , which sat — for the first time in months — completely empty, and Catra made her way behind the bar out of habit. “Drink, anyone?” She asked lightly, pulling out three mugs. “I think we’ve earned one.”

“Nah,” Scorpia said, hovering near the doorway. “I really should be getting home. I’ll see you tomorrow, wildcat.” 

Catra nodded, giving her a wave as she left. As the door swung shut, she turned to Bow. “How about you?”

Bow shook his head with a yawn. “Sorry, Catra. I really need to head back to camp. Since Micah will be busy and Adam is…” He trailed off before shaking his head a little. “I’ll be in charge. Gotta be up and ready for morning briefings.”

At the mention and reminder of Adam’s name, worry bubbled up again inside of Catra. “Right,” She said, pouring a mug for herself. “That’s fine.” She paused a second, tapping her finger against the side of the mug. “Thanks,” She said quietly. “For the ride, and for… you know.”

Bow nodded, giving her a small smile. “Anytime.” He stood to leave before he rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “Listen, um… I know today was long and hard, but we could really use someone with your knowledge of the British army helping with the siege.” 

Catra wanted to say no, to tell him that her part in the war was over. Then she thought about how the city she loved had become unrecognizable, how she herself had suffered for years because of the English and their meaningless tariffs, and how the person she loved had been horribly, horribly injured.

She gave Bow a stiff nod. “I’ll help where I can. But once the siege is over, I’m done,” Catra said, watching Bow nod along to her words. “After what they did to Adam and everything he’s been through in this war, I don’t want any part continuing it.” She paused a moment. “All I want is a life with him.”

Bow let out a small sigh even as he gave her a sad smile. It was directed at her, but his eyes said otherwise. It was clear there was something— or, more likely, some _one_ else he was thinking of. “I can understand that,” He said quietly. 

After a beat, he stood straighter and gave her a crisp, formal salute. “Then it’s been an honor working with you, Mrs. Fairchild.”

Catra returned it as best she could before breaking it awkwardly. She watched Bow try to hide a smile. He put his hat back on, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders, and turned to leave. 

But watching him go, something in Catra nagged at her, and she raised an arm to stop him. “Bow, wait. I—” She swallowed. “Can I come with you?” At his confused expression, she continued, “I just— I want to be there when Adam wakes up. I _need_ to be there.”

Bow’s face softened instantly. “Of course. We kept his tent the way he left it, and I’m sure he won’t mind you staying there.”

Catra thought of the time they’d spent there over the months, all the nights and mornings and promises whispered in dim candlelight, and felt her heart twinge. “No,” She said. “No, I doubt he would.”

*** * ***

The ride back to the encampment was shorter than she was expecting, whether because of the lack of traffic around them or the way time seemed to move faster without the sun to slow it. The two of them were quiet, and the chill of the air was settled firmly in Catra’s bones by the time she made it to the tent. 

The flaps had never seemed so lifeless.

Maybe it was the fact that Adora always kept candles burning inside it, and maybe it was the lack of moonlight to illuminate it outside, but the canvas hung dull in front of her. 

Raising a shaking hand, she moved one of them aside and ducked in. 

It was _exactly_ the way Adora had left it. A few quills and an inkwell were arranged neatly on a small desk, next to which sat a small trunk that Catra knew contained neatly folded clothes, and an unlit candle sat next to her bed with a small tray of matches next to it. 

Catra lit it expertly, and dim, warm light bathed the room. As she turned around, sitting on the bed to start undressing, something on the table caught her eye. 

She frowned and shifted before bringing the candle closer to get a better look at it. There was a small, folded piece of paper with two words written on the front. 

_To Catra_.

Her eyes widened, and as she reached a hand over slowly to pick it up, she saw more than felt the tremor in it. 

She saw that it was a short letter, no more than a few sentences, but the sight of familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes. When she opened it, a small parcel fell out of it and landed on the desk. 

Catra figured she would deal with it later, and turned her attention to the letter. 

_My love_ , it read. 

_If you read this, it means I did not return from my mission. More than anything, I’m sorry._

_I don’t have much time — we’re readying to move to Concord as I write this — but I want you to know that I love you. Razz used to say that everyone gets one great love in their lifetime._

_You are mine._

Catra took a deep breath as drops of water landed on the paper. She lifted a hand to her face and realized she was crying. There were only a few lines left on the page, and Catra scanned it rapidly. She could almost hear Adora’s voice speaking the words softly to her.

_It’s not much to remember me by, I know, but enclosed in this letter is a ribbon. It was my favorite. I want you to have it, and to think of me when you wear it. I’ll always be with you, my love._

_Forever and always,_

_Your A._

Catra remembered how Adora’s hair had been down when they spoke in Concord, and realized with a pang exactly _why_ that was. Her hand moved to the small brown package on the desk, and opened it with shaking fingers to find a smooth blue ribbon. 

The sight of it nearly made her weep. As a chill swept through the room, Catra pulled the blankets up around her, and suddenly all she could smell was Adora. 

Every emotion Catra had felt over the last few days bubbled up at once inside her, and she knew if she was standing her legs would have given out. She was grateful for the blankets warm and heavy on top of her, but the wave of nausea and crippling, paralyzing grief that overtook her made her feel as though her heart was in a vice grip.

The letter fluttered to the floor, and as the sound of quiet sobs filled the room, Catra buried herself in Adora’s blankets, breathing the smell of her in as deeply as she could in the hopes that it would settle in her lungs and stay there.

*** * ***

Adora woke up the next morning to Micah smearing ointment on one of the more recent brands she’d endured. She felt cleaner than she had, though the numbness the laudanum had blessed her with was beginning to wear off, and cleared her throat to find it cracking and dry. 

“M-Micah,” She croaked, watching his eyes flick up to meet hers. “Some water?”

With a brisk nod, Micah finished his task, and wiped his hands on a towel before returning to her bedside with a small pitcher. Adora sat up eagerly before gasping as her ribs screamed in pain, and eased herself back onto the bed. The tallies on her back itched as they met the linen beneath her, and she realized dimly that she wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She peeked under the blanket to see that her bindings were also noticeably absent.

“Easy, Captain,” Micah soothed, putting a hand on her shoulder. He was careful to avoid the backside of it, where the edge of a long slice sat. Charles had decided to have her whipped a few days before. “It’s alright.” He lifted the pitcher to her lips and poured slowly.

Adora gulped the water down gratefully, nodding a little once she’d had her fill. “Thank you,” She said quietly, hearing the hoarseness in her voice. “Catra, is she—”

“From what Bow told me, she’s curled up asleep in your bed,” Micah said with a smile. “I imagine she’ll come to see you the moment she’s awake.”

Adora nodded, letting her eyes fall closed. The cuts all over her body had begun to flicker in discomfort, and she knew the medicine’s effects wouldn’t last much longer. They were starting to burn again, like a fire crackling awake. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the stinging pain in her back return. 

She could feel Micah’s gaze on her, and cracked an eye open to see the worried expression on his face. “What?” Adora asked, suddenly far more aware of the markings on her face than she had been a moment before. 

Micah let out a small sigh before moving to rewrap her chest. She leaned up a little, wincing as her ribs protested. “It’s just something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” He said. He was quiet for another moment before he asked, haltingly, “Do you remember when you were shot back in October?”

Adora frowned. “Hard to forget.”

A small chuckle escaped him as he began to wrap the bandages around her chest another time. “No, of course. I should have clarified.” Micah paused. “Do you remember when I saw to your wounds after you came back? You woke up while I was changing your bandages the first time,” He said, and Adora shifted uncomfortably in her bed. 

“I do,” She said quietly. “If that’s what this is about, Micah, it doesn’t affect my ability to—”

Micah held up a hand, and her words died in her mouth. “Captain, please let me finish.” He sighed. “You’re not the first… _officer_ like this that I’ve known,” Micah said quietly. He tied off the bandage neatly, and Adora relaxed back against the bed.

Her eyes widened a little when she realized what he meant a second later. “You mean there are others?”

“One,” He said, nodding. “There was an officer I knew during the Seven Years’ War.” He turned to her with a small smile at the memory. “Lieutenant Grayskull.”

“But how did—”

“We were in the same regiment,” Micah explained. “During an ambush, we were separated from the rest of our patrol, and Grayskull was wounded. If I remember correctly, it was a bullet wound to the stomach similar to yours.” Adora’s eyes flew open in shock, head spinning from a combination of the story and the pain at her back.

Micah took her silence as a sign to continue. “I had to dress the wound, of course. But Grayskull practically begged me not to. When I asked why, he just shook his head. It wasn’t until nightfall that he let me see it. By then, it was almost too late.” Micah’s voice died a little in his throat. “Sepsis was starting to set in. I did what I could, but…” He trailed off. “I found out his— _her_ secret shortly after. And... I don’t know if it was right to, but I asked her name.”

“What was it?” Adora asked quietly. She could see the pain, the guilt written on his face. “Her name?”

“Mara.” 

The word hung in the air of the tent for a moment as Micah swallowed. “Um. I did my best to save her. We were discovered by our allies soon after, and she was taken away. I never saw her again.”

Adora blinked. There was a thread of grief in his voice she wasn’t used to hearing. “Why did you want to tell me?”

As he shook his head, Micah said, “I don’t know. I think—” He let out a sharp exhale, and paused for a moment while he searched for the right words. “I think I wanted to make sure you knew that you weren’t alone, Captain.” He gave her a small, fragile smile. “You’re the latest, but not the first. I can only hope that gives you some comfort.”

“It…” Adora swallowed thickly. There was a sudden, burning lump in her throat that she hadn’t been expecting. “It does, Micah. Thank you.”

With another small smile, Micah nodded. He turned his eyes down to the floor, seemingly deep in thought. “Of course, Adam.”

“...Adora,” She said quietly. “My real name, I mean. It’s Adora.”

“You don’t owe that to me,” Micah said, still staring at the floor. “Or to anyone, for that matter. Adam is just as much your name as Adora is.”

“That’s true.” A smile quirked at her lips. “But you’ve saved my life twice now, and I don’t have enough money to pay you, so this will have to do.”

It drew a slight — though genuine — chuckle out of Micah, and he turned to her after a moment. “And Catra, does she…”

“Yes,” Adora nodded. “She figured it out the first time we met, actually.” She smiled at the memory. It seemed so long ago now. “She’s always been clever.”

Voices came from outside suddenly, and Adora blinked a little at the sudden, slightly muffled sound of someone arguing with the guards. The voice continued, “—do I _look_ like I’m lying? All I want to know is if he’s awake.” 

The tent flaps swished open a second later as a red-faced private — one of the newer men from Connecticut, if Adora remembered correctly — stepped inside. “Sir, there’s a woman outside that claims she’s here to see you.”

The only thing that stopped Adora from bolting up was the fact that her legs ached as though she’d run miles the day before. The cuts on her face ached as her lips pulled up into the biggest grin she could manage. “That’s my wife,” She said. “I-I want to see her. Send her in.”

“I agree. Do as the captain says,” Micah nodded. He turned to Adora. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need anything, Glimmer and I will be in as often as we can.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “And _don’t_ try to stand up or walk around, Captain. I mean it.”

Adora chuckled a little. “I’ll do my best.”

The tent flaps swished open again, and Catra walked in wearing one of Adora’s coats. “God,” She breathed, walking over to her bedside. “Fuck.” Adora gave her a warm smile. It came out lopsided because of the pain of the cuts on her face, but Catra didn’t seem to mind. 

As Micah stepped out of the tent, Catra pulled a nearby chair along the floor until it was beside Adora’s bed. “I got your letter,” She said, and both of them heard the watery tone to her voice. “God, Adora, I-I almost lost you.”

“I know. But you didn’t,” Adora said. “And you won’t.” 

Catra paused. “How do you know that?” She shook her head, and a pleading edge entered her voice. “We can’t keep having the same conversation, Adora. I mean— God,” She said, eyes softening as they ran over the fresh marks all over Adora’s body. “Look what he did to you. How do I know it won’t be worse next time?”

The reminder sent memories of long knives and cruel smiles into Adora’s mind, and her jaw tightened. “You don’t need to tell me what Charles did,” She muttered. “I was there.”

The fight — if you could call it that — seemed to leave Catra’s body all at once. “I know. You’re right, I-I’m sorry.” Instantly, Adora knew there was more Catra wanted to say. She could see it in the way she froze for a second, how her eyes darted over to meet her own.

Adora narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“You have to promise me this won’t change anything between us,” Catra said in response. Her voice was quiet, and wavered in a way Adora knew meant she was horribly, desperately anxious. “I— Charles is dead,” She started, taking a deep breath, “because I killed him.” 

“Oh.” Adora blinked. After a brief pause, she asked, “Is that— is that it?”

“What do you mean, _is that—_ ” Catra cut herself off. “Adora, I-I stabbed him in the neck with a letter opener.”

Out of reflex, Adora winced a little. “Must’ve been a lot of blood,” She said, shaking her head a little. “Are you going to replace the floorboards?” 

Catra just stared at her. “You’re not mad?”

“He carved the word ‘traitor’ into me and assaulted you for half a decade,” Adora said blankly. Her lips quirked up in a smile a second later. “I’ve never been happier.” 

Even after wincing at the reminder of Adora’s injury, Catra couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her. “You’re such an idiot,” She said, voice so full of fondness it felt like she would burst from it. 

Adora gave Catra her best attempt at a cheeky grin. It tugged at the stitches on her face. “I love you too.” She let out a small sigh before the smile began to slide off her face. “Catra, I-I can’t move very well, but I—”

“What is it?” Catra asked. She looked around. “Do you need water? I can—”

“No,” Adora shook her head, wincing at the way the movement pulled at the cuts and incisions on her neck. “No, I— I was going to tell you to lean down so I could kiss you.”

With a smile, Catra obliged. “I thought you’d never ask, Captain.” 

When their lips met for the first time in weeks, it felt like coming home. Catra sighed into Adora’s mouth, and she smiled a little into the kiss in response. Moving to deepen it, Catra slid her hand gently onto the side of Adora’s face. 

The fact that her eyes were closed meant she didn’t remember to avoid the three new slashes down the side of her jaw, and Adora broke the kiss with a hiss as pain sparked where Catra’s hand had touched.

“Shit, I-I’m so sorry,” Catra rushed, tearing her hand away like she was the one in pain. “God. I’m so sorry, Adora, I—”

Adora shook her head, holding up a hand. She tried to avoid looking at where her wrists were circled in thick, ugly red lines that she knew would fade to thick scar tissue. “No, it—it’s okay. I’m alright, my love.”

“Are you sure?” At Adora’s reassuring nod, Catra’s expression flickered, and she leaned down to press their foreheads together gently. The reminder of her scars — which, by default, meant the reminder of everything else Charles had made them both endure — brought the mood between them down from joyful and loving to something more subdued. 

“God. How are we going to get through this?” Catra asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“The same way we always have,” Adora replied easily. She closed her eyes, putting her hand atop Catra’s where it sat on her bed. “Together.”

*** * ***

It would take Adora weeks to recover fully from what Charles had done to her. 

Catra knew this, Micah knew this, and Adora knew this. Even if Micah hadn’t given Adora an official timeline for recovery, they all would’ve known. She had four broken ribs and two more that Micah suspected were cracked, she hadn’t had proper nutrition, and the muscles in her back and arms were damaged from the amount of time she’d spent holding the same position.

It wasn’t as though any of that mattered, necessarily, because Adora still push herself every day in an attempt to be further recovered than she was, but there were some things even her will couldn’t force its way through. 

For one, it took her four days to be able to keep down a full meal again. 

Nutrition by the docks had been substandard at best — as in, Adora had subsided on half-moldy bread and cloudy water for a week and a half — and even though her stomach rumbled at the mere smell of the meat Micah brought for her, she couldn’t eat it without her body rebelling. 

It frustrated her to no end. 

Her cuts, carvings, and brandings began to heal, but somehow the scabs and itching was worse by far. Adora had always known that most — if not all — of them would scar. It didn’t prepare her for the scarring process. 

The brands were the worst: since her experience with wounds was limited to knives and guns, nothing prepared her for Micah showing her — with the help of a few mirrors — the emblem of the Crown between her shoulder blades. She could see the edge of a few of the tally marks in the reflection, too, and tried very hard to look away. 

It was an ugly mark. Red, angry tissue dipped up and down, following the familiar ridges of the symbol, and Adora found it difficult to look at. She was grateful it wasn’t something she’d need to see every day.

(Of course, the carvings in her stomach and chest were another story. Those had come at the end of a very long, very painful day, and she always felt a sting of shame remembering the way she’d screamed. 

It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if Charles hadn’t first heated up his knife until the tip glowed red, but as he’d told her with a cruel, malicious grin, _I need to make sure it takes._ )

Catra was by her side constantly, and when she wasn’t it was to fill in for her during strategy meetings and siege defense. It was progressing slowly, but it was progressing. She would come back and tell Adora the news and the developments they’d made, usually alongside Bow, Glimmer, or both. 

The first time Adam walked into a meeting with a cane to support him, a face drained of blood from the effort, and a hand trying hard not to clutch his side, Catra nearly started crying. 

He was doing his best to focus, she saw, because the skin around the slowly-healing cuts on his face was pulled taut in concentration. When he saw her staring at him with shining eyes and a hand over her mouth, his concentration broke for a moment as he sent a small smile her way. 

Adam sat down gingerly next to her with a small wince of pain, and even though he made a valiant attempt to listen to the report from the siege line, all Catra could look at was him. 

*** * ***

By the time the end of May had come, Adam seemed to be getting better. 

The scars on his face had faded to pink and were on their way to white, and — though he rarely showed them to her — the ones on his stomach and back were following suit. Micah had kept a close eye on him, as had Catra, and he’d been stationed in the encampment for the last few weeks with a firm order not to go back into active service. 

Catra could see how pent up he was without a task, without a purpose to fight for, but she saw more than that. 

For example, she saw how he averted his eyes every time his meal came with a knife a little _too_ sharp, how he had to hide a flinch whenever someone moved too quickly around him, and how he couldn’t stand the sight of the glowing iron the blacksmiths in town or within the encampment would shape. 

Adam didn’t sleep well, either. 

From what some of the others had told her, he’d never quite slept the same after his patrol was killed those months ago, but this was something new. He kicked around more often, thrashing back and forth in the sheets, and he’d woken them both up more nights than one with a throat raw from screaming, Catra’s name on his lips, and tears on his face.

She always held him through those nights, whispering praise and reassurance against the top of his head and feeling him cling desperately to her as he cried. 

But he never brought it up. In fact, every time Catra asked him if he was feeling alright, Adam would give her a tired smile and reply that he had never been better. 

The days seemed to wear on him, though. She knew his ribs still gave him trouble, and would continue to for a while longer. 

There was one upside, though. 

Micah had told them with a bright red face after the first few weeks that if they wanted, there were a few _activities_ the two of them would be able to indulge in, but between Catra splitting her time between the inn and the encampment and Adam trying to manage a number of soldiers exponentially larger than what he was used to, they hadn’t found the time. 

Then there was the battle at Bunker Hill, which only scattered them even more. From what the higher-up officers said, it wasn’t a _total_ loss for them, as it proved they would be able to fight the British as any real army would do, but Catra had seen the bodies coming in. 

She wondered, not for the first time, if there was any victory in war that could rival the fresh graves dug as a result of its course.

Adam hadn’t fought in it— more accurately, he hadn’t been _allowed_ to fight in it — but Bow had taken a regiment to help create fortifications the night before. He’d come back bloody and half-unconscious, but alive, and Glimmer had kissed him right then and there. 

Watching them for a moment before looking away with a small, proud smile, Catra thought the desperation and the passion in the kiss they shared seemed a good representation of the emotions running high throughout the encampment for the last few months.

The arrival of the commander-in-chief in Boston — as in, _General_ _George Washington_ , confirmed not two weeks prior by the Continental Congress — and the formal creation of the Continental Army was the only thing that began to help settle that feeling. 

Catra had met him and spoken to him a few times during the course of his stay, though the majority of her time in strategy meetings was spent discussing espionage and not military strategy. Adam had more experience there, and the general took a liking to him quickly.

(She tried not to think about what that might mean in terms of Adam’s future and, by extension, her own.)

Catra had almost forgotten how much she missed having sex until finally — after months of waiting on Catra’s part and trying impatiently to heal on Adam’s — a slow day presented itself. 

Adam entered the tavern cautiously, scanning the room out of habit, and saw Catra idly cleaning a mug with a simple rag. Her eyes widened when she saw him. When her eyes dipped down to see the cheeky smile on his face and the way he raised his eyebrows, the mug was under the bar in a second with the rag atop it. 

Catra whispered something in Scorpia’s ear before she jerked her head up the stairs, and Adam felt a smile creep onto his face at the familiarity of the scene. 

When he made it up the stairs and into the room, buzzing with anticipation while he waited a minute out of habit, she was already in the process of taking off her dress. 

Catra stopped when she saw him, sighing into a soft smile as it spread across her face, and walked over slowly to take his hands in hers. “I missed you.”

As she spoke, Adam set his hat onto the table by the bed before reaching up to untie the ribbon that held his hair back. 

“I missed you too,” Adora said. She smiled, ignoring the way it pushed and pulled at the tight scars on her face. “I don’t think I realized how much until I was on my way here.” She took off her overcoat and vest, leaving her in just a simple shirt. 

Catra watched her with a soft expression before putting a hand on her face and pulling her gently down for a kiss. “With your ribs, I don’t know how much we can do,” Catra said, pressing another kiss to Adora’s lips. “But I want to make you feel good.”

Her hands moved to the hem of Adora’s shirt the way they’d done a thousand times before. 

This time, Adora stopped her. “I— Wait,” She said haltingly, watching Catra pull back with concern written all over her face. “I-I’m not ready for… that. Just because—” She let out a small sigh as tears pricked at her eyes. “Because of everything he did,” Adora admitted quietly. “I don’t want you to see it.” Catra squeezed her hands tightly. 

“Adora, I love you,” Catra said. She brought a hand up to run her thumb along Adora’s cheekbone soothingly. “Nothing is going to change that.”

“I know that,” Adora replied quietly. Her jaw tightened for a moment under Catra’s hand. “I just don’t want you to have to see your name as a scar on my body.”

Catra’s thumb stopped moving for a split second. “I don’t think either of us do,” She said carefully, eyes flicking down to Adora’s stomach and staying there. “But I won’t push you, Adora.” 

Catra gnawed at the inside of her lip for a moment before looking back up at her. “Can I still touch you? I won’t make you take anything off that you’re not comfortable with, but…” She shrugged. “I still want to feel you.”

With a small smile, Adora nodded. She let out a sigh of relief she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “Are you sure? I know I’m—” She gestured to herself. “I can’t do much for you.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me.” Catra shook her head, pushing Adora gently towards the bed until her knees hit the back of it and she fell into a sitting position. “Right now, I just want to take care of you.”

And she did. 

Hours later, when Adora was spent and panting against the headboard with Catra looking up at her from between her legs with a smug, satisfied expression, all Adora could think to do was pull her up for a kiss. 

She tasted herself on Catra’s tongue, practically hearing the echoes of her own moans in the air, and let out another short sigh. This time, it was of contentment. 

“Do you remember what you said the first time we… did this?” Adora asked, voice rough and raw from how much noise she’d made. “You asked me if this was what love felt like.”

Catra smiled against her lips at the memory, and she sighed a little into the kiss. “Then I said I never wanted it to end.” Her smile softened. “I stand by it.”

“So do I,” Adora said. “Catra, I—” She swallowed thickly, searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Despite herself, Catra stilled. She swallowed down the nervousness in her stomach at the gravity of the phrase, and nodded. “You can tell me anything.”

Adora closed her eyes a little. “It’s General Washington. He—” She paused. Her eyes opened and met Catra’s warily. “He’s offered me a promotion and a position by his side.”

This was what Catra had feared the most, and she looked away as tears began to prick at her eyes. “Congratulations,” She croaked, hearing a familiar thickness enter her voice. “You must be really proud.”

“Catra, listen to me,” Adora pleaded quietly. “Look at me.”

Catra had never been able to deny her anything, and doubted she ever would. She wiped away a stray tear and looked back at her.

A small, soft smile crept onto Adora’s face. “I’m not taking it.”

Catra blinked, and her despair faded into a gentle, cautious kind of hope. The ringing in her ears seemed to stop for a second. “What?”

“I’m not taking it.” Adora’s smile widened, and she leaned in a little to tuck a strand of hair behind Catra’s ear. “After everything with Charles and everything we’ve been through, I just figured… there’s plenty of other people willing to fight for this cause. Part of me still wants to, and… I think I always will,” Adora admitted. “But I want a life with you more than—than _glory_.” 

Tears slipped down Catra’s face, and she couldn’t bring herself to wipe them away this time. She felt her face break out in a watery grin. “Really?”

“Really,” Adora nodded, returning her grin easily and leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Forever and always, remember?”

Catra nodded, and pulled Adora in for a tight hug. “I love you. And I know that deciding this must have been hard for you,” She said earnestly. “Thank you.” It came out a whisper against Adora’s chest. “This is all I ever wanted.”

Adora was quiet for a moment before she said, “I love you too. And it was hard, yeah, but… honestly, I’m a little relieved.” She smiled against Catra’s forehead. “I suppose I still don’t know how long forever is going to be for us, but at least now I know I’ll get to be with you for every second of it.”

Catra felt her heart ache a little at the words, and leaned down to capture her lips in another deep kiss. “God. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” She murmured. 

As Catra felt strong arms wrap around her and a heartbeat that thudded steadily and solidly in her ears, she knew she’d found love in the truest, freest form imaginable.

“Do you think I’ll make a good innkeeper?” Adora asked after a moment, smiling as Catra let out a chuckle against her.

“I know _I_ make a good innkeeper,” Catra corrected. She snuggled in closer to Adora’s chest and pulled the blankets up around them. “But you’ll make a good apprentice.”

*** * ***

The siege broke the next March, and the city buzzed for months after with the glow of being the first free city in America. 

When the army moved shortly after with a newly-married Bow and Glimmer in tow, Catra and Adam spent the day giving tearful goodbyes to them. “Promise you’ll write to us,” Catra said shakily, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. 

“Of course I will,” Glimmer said, taking Catra’s hands in hers. “As often as I can.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Catra nodded, and pulled her in for a tight hug. “You know you’re always welcome in the _Cradle_ , right?”

Bow gave her a warm smile as he nodded. “We’ll stop by as soon as we can. And I’ll dream of that ale, Catra. Seriously. I don’t know what you put in it, but keep doing it.” When Catra pulled away from Glimmer, she only paused for half a second before she wrapped her arms tightly around Bow.

He returned her hug easily and gratefully, and dropped a gentle, friendly kiss on the top of her head. 

As soon as Catra pulled away, Adam — who had been trying very hard not to cry, and wasn’t succeeding in the slightest — stepped forward to envelop both of them in a near-crushing hug. “I love you,” He said, muffled by where his mouth was pressed into Bow’s shoulder. “Please be safe.”

“Well, Bow is going to be in a purely tactical position, and I think the most danger I’ll be facing is childbirth,” Glimmer joked, putting a hand on where her belly was just beginning to swell. “But we will, Adam. That goes double for you two,” She said, pointing a finger at them. “Are you sure you’re okay to keep—” She lowered her voice, “—spying for us?”

After a beat, Catra nodded. It was something they’d discussed at length before deciding that neither of them would be directly involved, and would only serve as messengers or middlemen. “As long as neither of us are in danger, I don’t mind helping pass along information.”

“Plus, the British haven’t found a cipher my wife can’t break,” Adam added, grinning as Catra rolled her eyes and blushed at the praise. He kissed the ring on her finger before continuing, “And the _Cradle_ being right by the harbor gives us a good chance to gain information from people coming through.”

Micah called to them from far away, and Adam knew their time was running short. The four of them finished their goodbyes as quickly as possible, because all of them knew if it took any longer they wouldn’t want to leave. 

“I’m going to miss them,” Catra said quietly, waving to Glimmer as she stepped inside a carriage. 

Adam sighed, wiping away a few tears that had escaped his eyes. “Me too.” He wrapped an arm around Catra and leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “But I’m glad I have you.”

Catra smiled and leaned into him. She knew he loved her, and that she loved him, but hearing the casual reminder never failed to make her feel better even on the worst days they had. 

And there _were_ bad days. 

There were days when Catra thought she saw Charles’ bloody, bloated face haunting her in a crowd and had to stave off a panic attack in the back room, and days when the smell of the docks wafted in through the door and sent Adora into flashbacks that lasted anywhere from seconds to hours. 

But it was like Adora had said: they had each other. 

Adora would sit with her on the floor of the back room, help her control her breathing, and hold her tight until it evened out. She would remind Catra that Charles was soundly dead, and that she would always protect her and keep her safe.

Catra stopped keeping the door open for as long, and lit incense to hide the smell of salt water on days she had to. When the flashbacks came, she would sit with Adora and gently try to talk her through them until her vision cleared. 

As the years passed, the wounds began to heal. 

The occasional dispatch still came through their tavern, but as the Rebellion — now, the _Revolution_ — moved south, war became a memory. After the victory at Yorktown, it became a legend. 

Adora started sleeping through the night, with Catra there to hold her and be held by her. Some of the scars on her body faded with time, and others would remain with her for the rest of her life. 

But when she woke up and saw Catra — with her hair around her head like a halo and her face relaxed in the way only sleep can ensure — asleep on the pillow next to her, Adora knew with complete and utter certainty that if she had to do it again, she would.

 _I used to count every second we had together_ , Adora thought. 

She leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Catra’s forehead and watched her smile in her sleep. Adora felt herself match it, and let out a contented sigh as her eyes fell shut again.

_Now I have all the time in the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are so many people i want to thank. to everyone i've met and spoken to because of this fic, to everyone who's drawn fanart (!!!) and shared your thoughts about it, and to everyone who's ever interacted with this fic, thank you so so so much. every part of your support means the absolute world to me, and it makes me proud and happy every day that we were able to give this to you. 
> 
> but more than anyone else, i want to thank and recognize my co-creator alex. 
> 
> from creating this idea all the way back in early june to talking me through it and helping me on my more high-strung days to watching this final chapter go up now, at the end of august, he's been my rock and so, so much more. it's not often that you find love while writing about it for so long, but i'm so glad we did. thank you for everything. i love you.


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